I don’t know why I’m not ending it. Fear perhaps. Or laziness. Maybe things aren’t painful enough yet. If it gets really excruciating, I wonder if that will finally push me to do what I need to. Although by then it may be too late to secure a more peaceful end. Or perhaps even then I’d keep clinging to life, enduring any degradation to avoid having to make a decision. How bad would things need to get before I got the courage to end myself?
I believe that life may be worthwhile for some people, some of the time. But I am not one of those people, and that’s not going to change. I can’t really connect with anyone, because of the way I’ve lived. I can’t enjoy people’s company, or ever feel at ease. Interaction will always be effort, with nothing meaningful resulting. My body was always deficient, and is only getting worse with age. Low level discomfort is a constant. And I’m so tired.
I can’t see myself ever finding a partner, and I couldn’t have a family. Or even real friends. Not that I deserve any of that. I don’t really care about anyone or anything that much. I don’t really believe in anything. I’m an empty shell where a person should be. None of the possibilities remaining to me feel worthwhile. I don’t want to make the world a better place. I don’t care. Not really. I’m too full of bitterness and resentment. Why put yourself out so others don’t have to be as miserable as you are? Misery loves company.
There’s no meaning for me here. I’m just going through the motions, running out the clock. I shouldn’t exist. I’m a waste of life. Worse, I’m this bitter, malevolent shell. Better for everyone if I was put out of my misery.
So why do I fucking persist? The refusal to let go of delusions of the self. Some part of me refuses to acknowledge that I’m this monstrous empty worthless shell. It insists that really I’m one of the decent, worthwhile, talented, charismatic, beautiful people. That I’m not the void of personality and morality which reality reflects.
So if I can recognize that delusion, why can’t I overcome it? Doubt? Fear? Fear. I’m terrified of making such a final decision.
I guess I won’t do it until my current existence becomes so horrendous that my fear of continuing to live overwhelms my fear of death. And if I’m that desperate, it’s unlikely I’ll be in a situation where I have that much control over my end.
I find this view difficult to deal with. I’ll become more and more miserable until/unless it reaches a point where is somehow overcomes my fear. At which point either I’ll finally end it, or I’ll be trapped in my misery until I die of natural causes. And it will all be for nothing. Just this worthless, negative experience, pointlessly polluting the world.
Fuck. No wonder I go to such lengths in attempts to delude myself about reality. I’ll probably have partially forgotten all this in a day or so. I need a stronger drug – something that allows me to maintain the pretense to myself 24/7. If only I could believe in religion.