The animal in me wants to survive at any cost, to reproduce. It’s strong enough to make me fear death, to hinder me in killing myself. But it’s not strong enough to actually drive me to succeed in life. It’s constantly undermined by the asshole personality I’ve developed since I was a child, that always wants to withdraw, to reflect, to stand back from life and observe. That would rather be miserable about the past than focus on the future, because that somehow seems more meaningful. That is constitutionally incapable of being happy.
It’s hard for me to weigh up the good that would come from ending myself, from removing this level of neurosis from existence, against the suffering that would cause to my family. They don’t deserve it, and they live somewhat functional and fulfilled lives. I don’t like the thought of what it would put them through, especially my mother. They’ve tried so hard to help me over the years. I owe them so much, and it seems like such a slap in the face to them to put them through that after all they’ve done.
But…I just don’t think I can bring myself to be content. Or even semi-functional as a human being. I’m so emotionally isolated, and I’ve been this way for so long – it’s who I am, my personality. I can’t imagine not feeling this way. And it sucks. It’s not even that it “hurts”, as that would at least be a clear emotional experience. It’s that my whole mind is consumed by regret, and self-hatred, and despair, and it all just washes around like this murky poisonous sea. It’s all I am now. And I don’t want to be this anymore. And I don’t think I can change it. So part of me wants to be put out of my misery.
But would it be worth it, if it meant detonating a bomb under the lives of my family? Probably not, if I try to look at it objectively. But I also don’t know how much longer I can stand being this. Every year makes it harder to bear.