I need to tell someone this. I’ve been planning this for a year or so now, and since then I’ve kept it to myself the entire time. For an entire year, I’ve lied to my family, to my friends, and even to my therapist about my intentions. It’s entirely necessary, but I feel as though I’m going to go insane if I continue to just hide this form the rest of the world.
I’ve given myself a deadline of age 35. I’m going to kill myself at the evening before my 36th birthday.
I’ve been debating the morality of me leaving versus the morality of me staying. I’ve found that neither is of entirely sound reasoning. Me killing myself will no doubt shatter the lives of my friends and family. Whether I choose to believe it or not, what I’m going to do will follow them for the rest of their lives. Nothing will ever be that same “normal” as they were back then. Even if I go through with my plan of slowly pushing people out of my life, the news will surely shock them. I don’t talk about any of my plans for the future with my family. It would be cruel of me to do so, and then rip that away from them later.
All the same, I have to do this. This is just something I’ve realized over time that I can’t turn away from or avoid. I’ve learned things about the world as if late. Things part of my wishes I could have continued being blissfully unaware of, no matter how immature that thought may be. Things that have caused me to fear the future. For good reason. And for those reasons, I don’t think I can stay. The same goes for some of the things I’ve learned about myself. I’ll spare you the details of all this, as I’ve written about it several times on here, but the bottom line is I don’t think my existence in this world makes much sense anymore. As much sentimental value some people place on me, that doesn’t change the fact that my life is inherently parasitic in nature. There are certain things about myself that I can always hide, but never change. And it’s only a matter of time before those things come to the surface. There is something very wrong with me. And rather than wait for people to find that out themselves, I’m going to leave before I outstay my welcome. I want to apologize to my family and friends, but if they knew what I was, they would avoid me like the plague.
I’ve been trying to be as happy as possible (after all, I should try to enjoy these last years) but it’s hard. Everything feels so off, almost dreamlike in nature. I think I might be going through similar stages a dying person goes through during the ending stages of their life. The thought of death normally makes me feel calm, especially at night. Imagining myself dying in my sleep is actually one of the things that settles me down when I’m having an anxiety attack a night. But now, the prolonged idea of impending death is something that shakes me to my core when I think about it too much. There are times when I cry, filled with fear and sadness of what’s to come, even though it’s of my own volition. Certain songs, specifically ones about growing old with someone, really fuck me up now. I don’t think I ever truly believed I would grow old, but I pretended I would. I pretended I would grow up, make a name for myself as an author, get married, have kids: a sickly-sweet perfect life. Just like with the stories I write, I created a fantasy world for myself to try and drive away the hard truth that I was never going to grow old. I always knew deep down that my life would end with my body being found beside a suicide note. I just never accepted it until now.
I think the worst part of this is that now I want to live. Maybe I always did. Or if not live, I wanted to do something with the time I had. There is so much my parents have done that I wish I could do. But I just don’t believe that’s possible for me now. Maybe it was never possible, and I’m just aware of it now. (Sorry, I realize I’m being extremely vague during all this, but I just want to avoid giving people as much about my personal life as possible.) There’s always this constant feeling of sadness and fear in me nowadays. I don’t want to kill myself, but I know I’ll have to. If I don’t, I’ll be failing myself and everyone else, even if I know this will make them unhappy. Sometimes you have to do things like that. Make your loved ones unhappy if that truly is the right thing to do. Even now, I’m not sure if it truly is the right thing to do, but no matter how much I debate with myself, I might never truly know.
Please. If anyone is reading this, I’m not even gonna lie to you, I feel more scared and alone than I ever have in my entire life. I only have a little more than ten years left of my life, and I can’t talk to anyone I know about any of this. Please, talk to me. I don’t even know what I expect you to say. I just need some form of comfort from all this.
I’ll be waiting here.