It’s not that I want to stop existing. It’s that I want to stop existing like this. Full of regret, sadness, longing, loneliness. And I can’t see any plausible ways to make that happen. If I put in enough effort and time, then maybe I could earn myself a little relief. But a lot of the time, the thought of just ceasing to be seems preferable.
I don’t view death as a liberation, or an escape. More just a dissolution of what I am now back into the rest of the world. I don’t know what it’s like to be bacteria, or a worm, or a bird. But I presume whatever the downsides are, they don’t involve the ridiculous range of negative experiences that come with having this particular human brain. And since death is inevitable regardless, the idea of skipping through all the stupid shit that my brain does to itself is sometimes appealing.
Not so appealing that I’d jump at a chance to off myself. The idea of death is still terrifying. It still seems very much undesirable. Just sometimes, marginally less undesirable than continuing to exist as this particular human being.
My current idea is that if I get enough of those days where death seems preferable over the next 6 months, then I will allow myself to do it next summer. But I probably told myself something similar this time last year. And it would really fuck up my sister’s wedding. So it’s probably just a cope. Another fantasy. I’m miserable, and I’m looking for anything to tell myself that there’s some way out of this misery. That I don’t have to sit through another 40 years of this shit.