Past the Point of Giving a Shit

I always would try to comfort people by saying that ‘suffering creates growth’ and that without suffering, we would never learn, or become better people. I think I was saying it more for my own sake than anyone else’s.

I never judged or was angry with a person for committing suicide. In the back of my head, I understood why they would do it

I’ve struggled with epilepsy for the past 18 years. It hasn’t been that bad, I guess. Still, it’s enough to hamstring me in work, relationships, and long-term pursuits. I’m tired of the auras, the waking up on the floor covered in piss in sweat, the muscle aches, ambulance rides, and week-long depressions that follow. I’m tired of being a second rate medical student. I’m tired of just barely getting by in everything I fucking do. I’m tired of having to steel myself to talk to anyone about my actual problems. Everybody has their own shit to deal with, and I know they likely can’t handle my own. It’s just pathetic that I don’t even feel prepared to speak to my own family or friends. I don’t know of anyone I can actually relate to at the level I need while the fire continues to burn behind me.

I hate my weakness. I hate my exhaustion. I hate my predicament. I hate constantly struggling to get by. At the very least by killing myself I can reduce the ‘surplus population’ by one more. Someone smarter and kinder will eventually surpass me, and do more good for their friends and family than I ever could. I’m an emotional, environmental, economic, and physical leech and I’m tired of taking and crying and moaning without doing anything for anyone else.