My thoughts are so disjointed I can’t even write without losing what I’m trying to say but after all I still try anyway. Trying anyway, but trying is kind of pointless. Everyday I wake up and I try but everyone around me doesn’t understand anything I say I feel like I say so much and speaking is just sounds in anyway and words are all lies in the end. I don’t know. I get help, I got help, maybe I should get more, but I can’t get help because I can’t help myself, as I lie all the time like words are lies and I appear normal in this filtered lens and yes I am normal but I mean fucking alright which I am maybe I’m not sure what I am or who I am or anything. I already hate myself for writing this, I feel sick all the time disgusted with myself and filled with so much shame. What the fuck is wrong with me. What the fuck did I do wrong and deserve this for. I get nothing, I am nothing, got nothing, do nothing. I just beg for validation in holes like this and I don’t know what to do. No one wants to help me anymore they’re all tired of hearing all of my noises and words. Maybe there will be someone here who will listen to me tell my same story seven times over, same shit, seven days over, sevens hours of the day that Im awake and the other seven I sleep and the remaining seven plus three that I spend doing nothing but stare into nothing and think about nothing. I’m tired of living in my head but it’s okay I think and I want to kill myself but I’m always very scared of failing so I won’t so I’m okay but I’m hurt.
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Yes I used to be afraid.. I get that. Afraid of failure, afraid of what could be. In my case it is a ‘say nothing, do nothing, be nothing’ My suicide was planned for July 28 – Aug 1, 2012. I looked forward to this day for at least 3 years before that. Was the only one day I wanted to have. It was my 18th birthday. And if I couldn’t make it on my birthday, I was going to end my life in the days that followed. I was very very very afraid of pain and failing an attempt, so a strong bullet to the head was the only scenario that I accepted. I knew I had to get out and I would choose to get out as soon as possible! I looked to this day as an “alright you are 18, now you can head to the gun salesmen (because not knowing much at 18, you do know one thing, there ARE gun shops…. and you know a second thing -they CANT sell it until you are 18.. but you don’t know ..how controlled they are..or what breed of ‘funky’ people you are working with.) and get that gun and head out to the barren wasteland and end it, never be thought of again and it will be what you’ve wanted!!” I sell all of my belongings, I throw away my yearbooks, I throw away random junk I don’t need lying around after a suicide. I think “I can’t believe it’s finally over. I can’t wait to finish this.” I head to the pawn shop and take my first gander, they are priced at about 100$ over what I have collected from pawning my things… “ok maybe I can just borrow 100$ from your mother, she’s pretty lenient about giving money gifts… food,allowance, whatever… then at least she will not have to fork me another dime…” no….. no money to lend. She’s got 10$, like any other regular day. 10$!!! Now I will definitely have a fine time…..Then you start worrying what else can I do to get money but what’s more aching and grilling “what if the clerk gets suspicious, what if his mind starts wandering, what if he decides to make me out as a bad guy who might harm others because of how I look or because I don’t know much about weapons or because I am young. What if he assumes what I am to do with the purchase and sends cops over before I complete it. What will be left of me then? Nothing….. shame, fear…..dark depression that I cannot escape.” What if he is one of THOSE people. What if he is not the clerk that I trust in – the one who won’t ask questions and will help me out in the simplest possible way to end my miserable dreadful existence, but WHAT IF he is one of THOSE who is gladder that I live in dread and misery than buy my one way ticket to freedom from shackles, decay, hysteria, dirt, disease, and eternal WOE and SUFFERING. Now at this point, I am terrified of the type of person I might have a run in with, when attempting this THING, this THING that I knew should be my body’s right to be made quick and painless, I am too terrified to find the door and make the purchase. I am too afraid of them to go inside to get the one thing I need. I miss my chance. I lose my money, my comfort.
My distraction, I had graduated high school and spent each day sleeping at least 18 hours….. probably never leaving the bed in the time awake. That lasted 1 year and a half and I lost 50 pounds. No movement no emotion no anything I barely ate twice a week. I smoked weed. It helped me sleep long hours. I had nothing else to fill my time with. I knew what I wanted and I wanted to die. I couldn’t figure out how to do it so I started working at simply making myself comfortable… weed, the seldom beer and long hours of hibernation… when I was asleep I would have no thoughts feelings and it was the closest thing to death I could experience. When I was high, I convinced myself that I loved myself enough, I learned to avoid that which I hate. I found a way to be completely alone with no unwanted distractions. I found myself sitting quietly waiting for the day. And I could do that until I could figure out a way to commit suicide.
I feared pain then and I couldn’t see a future where I could kill myself without a weapon. I got a job, hoping to make only just enough to buy the weapon. Run off, end it, would take about half-hour to an hour tops and that was the only thing I’d ever really wanted … I lose the job out of the blue … seems to be something up with that, but I do not bother to know .. I was unwanted, just can’t believe it ..because I was going to buy the weapon with the very next check.
Now I will try to make this shorter because I could tell my story over and over again, never being less true and never changing anything… except maybe adding more of a clearer image or adding detail…
Now it has been a minute or two (some years) I am now 24. I would take anything at any time if you said it would kill me. If you handed me a pistol, I would walk to the canyons or get a ride, try to drive and shoot myself…. I spend my time looking for ways out and would jump at the opportunity of any way I can decipher that which will end my life on earth. I no longer fear pain, I know the outcome is worth the pain because it is worth it. That still doesn’t leave me with a lot of options.. When I think, I mostly think, I should have already completed. I try not to think, but I want to complete.
I probably finish this prematurely but I feel I cannot do a better job and that I am being watched… I will be here next time though.
By the way this isn’t me encouraging you, this is me sharing my story which is sad but it is true. I wanted to put this here because I saw similarities in how we dealt with suicide. How we have nothing, how we spend the moments alone in the emptiness, how we want nothing either, a gentle death, a gentle death. A kind gentle death.
Thank you for. Sharing. I feel we are similar too, both people so trapped in our own thoughts. I also try to escape by sleeping. Every morning when I wake up, I feel this immense pressure of realisation that life isnt what it is in my dreams. In my dreams, I am something that isn’t human, I don’t worry or fear or spent nights looking at nothing. I am 18, I don’t know if I said, I hate to read things that I have written. I feel so disconnected from myself. But I am 18, I also wanted to Kill myself on my 18th birthday. Here, only farmers have access to guns. But I wanted to get drunk and bleed myself, drown myself, drug myself, everything possible as some safegaurd (fall from some height too) but I got so scared on my 18th, I stayed up all night anticipating and never went through. I’m ashamed of that. I wish I did. I want to live a different life, I don’t feel like this is my life. I wanted to hurt myself massively. I despise every essence of my being, I wanted to show myself real pain. I fantasised a lot about someone doing awful things to me and finally killing me like I deserved. But that was just one part of myself, I equally wanted to die, as you said, a gentle and kind death. I want to hear more of your story. I have plenty to tell, and I want to hear all the things that you have to say. Someone similar, who understands my want to die, that’s rare to me.
Your mind cluttered by these thoughts as well?
All the time. It’s always so noisy. Are you the same?
Ofc. I can’t even focus sometimes. It’s actually really annoying