This is what I struggle with most when wondering whether I should end it. I’m not in unendurable agony, though I am in constant low-level pain. I’m not in inconsolable anguish, though I am always tired, and mostly sad, and becoming more and more hopeless by the year. If it was just me to consider, I think killing myself would probably be the right thing to do, even though I don’t emotionally “want” to do it. Despite my delusional attachment to dreams of a life, and my terror of death, I think it would be the right choice.
But it’s not just me I should consider. My parents still care about me far more than they should. It’s hard to imagine them getting over it – I think it might blight whatever remains of their lives, and possibly significantly shorten them. I also have a sister, who despite not having much in common with me, has gone out of her way to try to help me over the years. She also cares far more than she should. I think she would take it pretty hard, though I believe she would eventually find a way to cope – her partner is strong. She had her first child this year, my nephew. He’s obviously too young to care about anything much, but I don’t know what effect a grief-stricken mother would have on his prospects.
It’s so hard to weigh up two realities when both seem unacceptable. In one, I continue to be depressed and in pain, growing more and more so each year. In the other, my pain is ended, but a shadow is cast over the lives of my family, and they’re left with the kind of suffering I’ve fled from. I prioritise my own suffering to some extent, but I don’t know at what point that becomes overwhelmed by the negative impact on others.