there was a point where i stopped feeling so depressed. it felt like coming up for a breath after a long dive in the ocean. or like a foggy window, where the middle was finally wiped so i could properly see out of it. my head felt clearer. i didn’t feel so muddled in the dark. i felt nothing. or more so, i didn’t feel that depression anymore.
i could be happy, angry, or sad without feeling that depression. it was extremely weird; it was such a strange feeling. i had spent literally every day for at least 3 years feeling depressed. every, single, day. then for that feeling to be gone for a bit, it felt unnatural. it’s not like it was permanently gone, either. every now and then i would feel depressed, but it wasn’t as severe. again, it was like poking my head over the dark clouds.
i knew it could never last. i didn’t expect it to. i didn’t want it to. feeling almost normal like that was different though. because it never felt completely normal. regardless of depression or not, something still felt wrong. everything felt so tamed down and muted. then i started feeling more and more depressed again. some hours, to some days, to full weeks, to building up to months again.
every wave of depression feels so different. some are just the feelings, like a feeling of dark purple. there’re ones where they make it hard to do anything, yet still manageable. and ones where it truly feels like it’s a chore being alive. i didn’t know i could feel depression way, deep pass that.
i’ve been depressed for a good two weeks now. it almost has nothing i can compare it to besides the realization that life is completely useless. i already had those thoughts before, but they’re much more real now and i understand them more than before. when i think about life, it just feels like worthlessness. i can barely even describe the feeling besides the color brown.
back to the topic, i truly cannot find a reason to continue living. life has no meaning in the grand scheme of things. i cannot find a purpose for being alive. with nihilism there’s a paradox. this paradox is accepting life has no meaning yet continuing to live anyways while maintaining this belief. i think it’s a beautiful thing to believe in. acknowledging life has no meaning yet still living anyways. i always believed in making your own meaning for life, or, if not, not having one is okay.
i realized that it’s easier said than done. with the depression that i’m feeling now, now would be the time to put these beliefs to the test. i can’t. all i can think of is how useless being alive is. objectively, if i were gone, i would literally not impact much. i don’t talk to my dad anymore. my mom’s across the state with a whole new life that doesn’t need me in it. my siblings’ lives would practically be the same for them. and the sibling’s life i’m living with now wouldn’t be that much different either.
my mom wouldn’t need to rack up and extra $300 for me to live here, and my sibling here could have extra space, less spending, and one less person to care about. they just wouldn’t have me drive their girlfriend to work every now and then. i truly bring no value into anyone’s lives. it’s been made clear that i’m such a burden to drag around. me not existing anymore should make everyone’s lives more comfortable.
at this point, i can’t really think of any other reactions besides mild sadness and then just moving on, because that’s how little my presence affects everyone around me. im just taking up another room that could be used for something else more productive. like an office space my sibling’s girlfriend is going to have to put into the living room instead. i don’t understand why they don’t put their foot down and make my mom take me back. i’m taking up room in their life. i don’t even have an agreeable personality. everything with me is so complicated.
there’s never a perfect time to commit suicide. there will never be a time where i’m done doing everything i want to do, because new things always pop up. i’m on a clock, fighting against time. fighting against myself. the decision to commit suicide will have to be impulsive. otherwise, i doubt i’ll ever get to it. too much thinking, too much almost doing it but i don’t because i hear someone coming home. or i thought myself out of it. or because i realize that i don’t actually want to die. but i just want to cease to exist.
there will never be a right, quiet, romanticized way to commit suicide. a moment where my mind goes, ‘oh, this is the right time. i should do it now.’ and i will have time to go through my memories with love and wish all my things goodbye and make the perfect suicide note. no, it seems like it’ll be a rash, impulsive decision if there’s anything that i know about me. because i’m not patient. life comes so quick so why won’t this be.
i wrote so many suicide notes i eventually got tired of making them. i just don’t care about making them anymore. last words and for what. the suicide note isn’t for me, it’s for everyone else. i don’t want to leave one behind if i can’t be truthful just to spare people’s feelings. therefore, i can’t bring myself to write them anymore. either the note wouldn’t be true to myself, or i would be bringing down other people. the last thing i want is to possibly make people feel more worse than they might or create rifts. then the idea that if i survived the attempt comes up – that’d be awkward.
sometimes i’m afraid. not at the idea of dying, worried about how painful it’ll be, yes. but scared for what happens after. what if killing myself was all for nothing, too? because there is something after? i think right now, this will be one of the biggest challenges i will face. jumping into the true unknown, or prolonging life to wait it out. if there is something after, then everything would have been for nothing. i want to believe that after i die, i’ll return back to the universe in the dust and grains we came from. how beautiful is that?
planets are made by space dust; we’re made from that. all of us are a part of the universe. finally, not having a conscious anymore, finally not being alive, finally being nothingness seems so beautiful after so much suffering. i hope i die into nothingness. i want to be nothing. i want to be proved right by the worthlessness consuming my mind. trying to accept that i’m scared of the idea of a what if occurring after i’m dead has been comforting. it’s true that it’ll be a blind decision but being alive is a blind decision too.
i dreamed of getting help once. i really, badly, want help still. i want to be listened to. i want to be assessed. i want to take my mind apart to understand it. i can’t get that help. i told myself once that i’d kill myself if i wasn’t able to get help. it’s one of the few things i’ve ever truly wanted. since i can’t get that help, what’s the point? i don’t want to live like this. am i more scared of the unknown? or am i more scared of being alive? i have no sense of identity. i’ve done nearly nothing significant. i don’t make any impact to anything around me. i’m just another body taking up space.
i remember once that i went to my school counselor because i was having a mental breakdown to the point i was puking from anxiety. she didn’t seem to care much. she said she would call me up to her office for weekly talks, but she didn’t keep her word. and when i told her i was depressed, she made my feelings seem minimized. saying everyone feels bad because the weather is gloomy. or that things will get better eventually.
i did have a therapist once, but it never felt like actual therapy either. i was so lost, having gone through something traumatic, but i don’t think she knew how to approach me on the things that mattered. even younger, a different school counselor only gave me a packet to deal with divorce. while a different therapist actually accepted i was okay. i can’t say it’s their fault, but i just wished someone had told me it was okay to need someone to talk to then. maybe if i had been more direct, then we could have actually talked about something worthwhile. at the same time, i don’t think anyone knew how to deal with me, or maybe they just didn’t care enough. none of those were on my terms. i would love to be able to get therapy on my terms now. as a side note, i’ve learned that schools don’t actually care about the well being of their students. it’s all about how much useless worth i can do.
i learned to be pessimistic so that i don’t feel too strongly about things only for them to not happen. that’s how i feel now. i’ve told my mom and sibling i need therapy. i don’t think they understand the gravity of of the situation. maybe if i commit suicide, it will make it much more real for them like it is for me. i live this reality every sing day. knowing that something is extremely wrong with me, but no one seems to care except for myself. i have no way out besides taking my own life. i’m scared what i’ll do to myself sometimes if i have enough motivation. i want help, yet i’m forced to watch myself crumble and break. i’ve fallen down a hole, and even though i thought i hit rock bottom, i continue to fall. it feels so cruel. the only relief i will ever get is through the absence of absolutely everything.
i had goals. i had wishes. i have things i want to do. but all of these take a back seat when suicide is in the equation. these things are important to me, but for the chance of suicide, it’s worth it to lose it all. hope has long become a useless thing to me. there’s barely anything anchoring me to the ground. i have lost all meaning.
there is one small thing though. i have a friend. thinking about them when i think of committing suicide, i do feel bad. we’ve been friends since middle schools. in some ways i think that i have been their rock for them. we’ve been through a lot together. i’m worried that if i do this, they might follow my example. i can’t control their feelings or what they do, but i really don’t want to be the push that sends them over the edge.
it almost feels unfair, i want the best for them, truly. but i can’t selfishly think of myself without thinking of harming them for once. they’re the only person i’m worried about, and i don’t even know what to do. i wish there was a perfect way to go about this, but there isn’t. they’ve told me they had a dream about me dying before, and they’re worried i might. so i don’t know how to go about that, if i should leave them a message. i guess this time, it would feel worth it to leave something for them behind.
i could go on, and on, and on. but i’ll never be able to say enough words to describe absolutely everything. i don’t really know what the point is anymore. i always like to give myself hope by ending off things with the idea that i might actually stick to this concept and kill myself. but i always find myself waiting continuously for a moment where i would feel justified in attempting, i suppose. i don’t want to be like this, but i am, and there’s only so many ways out. i’ve always been able to squeeze myself out of unfavorable situations, so maybe i’ll be able to this time as well. however that may be.