My life is not only my own

If it were, I could take it now and end it, without having to worry about anything. But I can’t. The thought of my loved ones suffering because of me is unbearable, so much so that I literally cannot do it. My conscience just prevents it, it gives me even more pain at the imagination of them mourning than I was feeling before, regardless of how bad I was actually feeling then.

I don’t know if there will ever be a time that this changes, but right now I can’t see that happening, and so my life is not just mine, but it is theirs, and I am to an extent merely a means to the end of preventing their pain, of not ruining their lives as well.

They don’t know this, and it is certainly not their explicit intention, but nevertheless they take that option away from me. I can’t even feel angry at them, all I feel angry at is myself, that I am in this situation, and that I have no way of escaping the pain. The thought of suiciding was always intensely relieving, because no matter how bad it would get, I always had that at my disposal. After this realization though, that coping strategy is taken away from me, and I am not sure how I’ll manage without it.