If anyone is interested in chatting with me, send me a message or something.
Comedy @ tutanota. co m
^that there is an address for the internet mail. It’s like real mail, but on the internet.
I have kept the majority of my posts on this website as a sort of legacy for my family. I post using this account to basically chronicle my struggles as time passes in my life, and in the back of my mind i guess I am writing primarily for an audience that is my family, so that perhaps they will be able to extract some idea of the condition of my mind after I’m gone. I haven’t posted here in a while, I mostly haven’t been in despair for that time I guess. That being said, suicide never really evaded my thoughts, in fact I’ve had my issues since I last posted. I just don’t really feel like this helps anymore. I don’t know that my family would ever take the time to read what I’ve posted here. They think they have a proper picture of me, and it makes me pretty upset. There isn’t enough time in the world to change their opinion of me, but for some reason I always thought this would be the venue for such a thing.
It seems like every time I do get here, each time I am in the condition where I start making end of life plans. I think that I’m too far gone at that point to properly put down the reasons I’m feeling so terrificly awful. There have got to be at least 10 things swirling around in my mind currently that are utterly too complex to be written down which begs the question “Is there any point to posting at all?”.
There was a point in my life, within the last 5 years, that I thought someone from my life would speak on my behalf. I can recall writing several suicide notes in passing that instructed my family to contact her if the moment arose where I was found dead in some grubby apartment full of a nasty mess, broken electronics, and paraphernalia. I don’t think they would’ve sought that person either way though. The same goes for this site, I just don’t think they would even take the time to read it. I mean, basically they’re all so damn busy anyway, I can hardly ask them a favor because it just requires too much time to accommodate it. I’m not mad at them for it, sometimes I get a little frustrated with them, but that sort of thing is so common in life. We get so preoccupied with the things we need to accomplish day to day, that tending to some forethought aggregated in maybe 30 posts on some obscure website would take up too much time, not to mention the emotional toll it would take on them.
I guess this leads me to ask, is there any point in recording thought? I mean it will never benefit me, and it most certainly won’t be read by the people I care the most for. It doesn’t benefit any of you here either. In fact, I often wonder if anyone here has any interest in anyone other than themselves anyway. I guess my deepest desire in all of this is to be understood, for someone to really comprehend and accept the terms by which my suicide was brought about. It would be a massive failure if I did any less. That’s the thing isn’t it? Can anyone really accept the self imposed death of a loved one brought on by nearly a decade of misery, where half of the time it was all online for everyone to see, but they didn’t get to look until after I was gone? How brutal is that?
The way I see it now is the only reason I can’t kill myself today is because it would absolutely crush my mom. I think it would alter the trajectory of her life, I think it might even derail any chance of her enjoying the latter portion of her life. It scares me to death, I have been experiencing some recent events that are pushing me to a point of despair which I’ve never experienced before. Full blown, face numbing panic attacks. Nightmares which yield a projectile yellow bile deep from my gut onto anything near me when I wake up. I am pretty sure I’ve got PTSD, and I can’t do a damn thing about it. I’m in financial ruin, i’m talking I can save a dime, and I’m not doing drugs. I spend every moment of every day in fear, and I’m rarely comfortable. I genuinely want to die, and I can’t do it, but I’m getting there. I really am getting there, and this time every fiber of my being wants to live. I just don’t feel like I have a choice. I feel like the walls are closing in, to be massively cliche. I genuinely feel as if my freedom could be lost for good. I feel like no matter how many hours I work, that I can’t ever get on stable ground.
So if I can’t use this account to explain my reasoning, and I can’t just die without anyone knowing. If I can’t somehow catch some incurable terminal ass cancer, but most importantly I can’t solve my issues in order to realign my life so that I can get back on track, then what the fuck am I supposed to do?