I don’t know how to let go. It’s not something I ever learned. To force my brain to move the fuck on from whatever it’s fixated on. I seem to be causing myself endless pointless suffering, simply because my mind will not process the evidence presented to it.
This thing that seems incredibly important and vital? Yeah, that’s not for you. Better luck next time. Just accept it and focus on something else.
But I don’t. It’s like there’s this void inside me, and I’m desperately seeking out something that might negate it. Maybe letting go would mean accepting that void. That there is no purpose or meaning to my life. I’m not here for anything. I’m just taking up time, delaying the inevitable.
Possibly there would be a kind of peace in that kind of acceptance. But I just…can’t. It would mean giving up all frames of reference, all hope. I wouldn’t know how to live like that. Just lay back and let the quicksand pull you in. I wouldn’t get up to work. I’d only eat when I was starving. I’d let myself become homeless. Without the fear of there being something to lose, I don’t think I could survive.
So I must lie, and pretend to myself that there is some way that everything will work out. I must torture myself trying to figure out a way that life can be made meaningful again, no matter how impossible that seems. I must be alone, but constantly long for company and connection, instead of contentedly accepting my isolation.
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life is a bargaining game, you come in wanting things to go a certain way, employers, schools and people with money tend to have other ideas. So then you try to make those people happy, because that’s how success works, right? wrong, being an eager slave makes you easier to hit.
At which point you end up at an impasse. Life does not feel a need strong enough for you to give even an inch. You, meanwhile, are sufficiently dissatisfied that you are no longer motivated to cooperate.
Oh well. In a world where the powerful can just take and take, and the weak flounder and die…. I’d rather be weak than a monster.
I’m always amazed at stories of those who successfully committed suicide, specifically people who “noone would’ve suspected were thinking about it.” Those people we tend to view as having had so much to live for, and yet, somehow, they found that ability to let go. I also crave that moment, when I am ready mentally. It must be an indescribably amazing moment to let go of all hope and inhibition and set oneself free.
“It must be an indescribably amazing moment to let go of all hope and inhibition and set oneself free.” It is. I lived to tell the tale. How that happened is too long a story to tell. The take away, leaving out a book long story, is that I was put face to face with why I vehemently thought I should go, but afraid to try to go again and fail at it, and that drove me to seek out a rare, rare as in someone who could work with me, therapist that has ushered in enough healing of a tormented mind to enable me to see and increase my meaning in life. Now this body isn’t getting any younger, I am doing all I am willing to do to slow it’s aging, but I expect a time to come some year, as this body ages, that I will no longer be willing to live in it.
“Without the fear of there being something to lose, I don’t think I could survive.” This very thing has driven me often times, hope against hope.
“I’m not here for anything. I’m just taking up time, delaying the inevitable.” This was me from about 10/ 2011 to 2/2013.
:…trying to figure out a way that life can be made meaningful again, no matter how impossible that seems. ” I have seen, or to be more accurate, began to realize, I had a meaning in about 2013 and slowly that realization grows.