I’m in a near constant state of internal conflict and uncertainty. I should be dead. If anyone should, I should. I must be among the most wretched people on this planet. There’s so much wrongness in me.
But ending my life seems likely to devastate my parents and sister. When they’ve done so much to try to help me. I don’t want to do that to them. To infect their lives with my despair and hopelessness, when they worked so hard to give me hope and happiness when I was young.
Perhaps that’s just a rationalization, and all that’s really keeping me going is blind survival instinct. Presumably as long as I’m alive there’s still some (vanishingly small) possibility of me passing on my genes, no matter how miserable I get. If so, it unfortunately doesn’t seem strong enough to motivate me to do anything other than eat and sleep.
I don’t know whether my resistance to suicide is something that should be overcome. Things seem likely to get really bad at some point, and I might not have the ability to escape then.
But beyond just the experience of dying, you’re then facing the risk that it’s somehow not the end. I’m not a believer in any religion, but what the fuck do I know about ultimate reality? Maybe we do have eternal souls. Perhaps this is the matrix. How would I know? Maybe I should be trying to mend my ways to avoid eternal torment. How do you judge something like that?
Significant parts of me still want to live. To really live, rather than just consuming oxygen. But I don’t know how. I don’t think I can ever let anyone in, which rules out any meaningful connection. I don’t think I can ever really relax and enjoy another person’s company. Every interaction is forced and artificial.
I’m tormented by the stuff in my head.
I don’t know what I’m doing. My mind is all over the place. Hopes, dreams, longings, fears, despair, guilt, shame.
If I was a morally normal person, I’d have killed myself long ago. But then I’d never have gotten into this situation in the first place. I’m not a moral person. I care what people think of me, but I don’t value honor or social sentiment. I don’t trust society. I’m selfish.
So only I can make this decision, no matter how often morality informs me I should kill myself. But it’s hard to do, when you’re largely unmoored from social convention and belief. All I have is my feelings, and they fluctuate on a minute to minute basis. What kind of guide is that? It’s like being pulled around on a lead by a dumb animal. But when I try to reason it out, I get stuck. How do I weigh up ending my own misery against inflicting it on others? How do I weigh up the existential risk of something worse beyond death? The tiny possibility of happiness and fulfillment against the looming threat of everything falling apart. It’s too big for my tiny little mind.