It seems like the way the world is going, it would be good to have my exit plan to hand, even if I don’t use it straight away. Then, if someone somewhere decides that nuclear war would actually be a grand idea, I can peace out before things get truly gnarly. I have no desire to try and survive through a nuclear holocaust.
I’m pretty sure I have enough money to obtain my preferred substance, but it would take a lot of work to track down a reliable seller, and I’m hopelessly naïve with that kind of shit. I’m also worried about attracting the attention of the authorities – I really don’t need that kind of aggro in my life, especially if I end up sticking around.
But I should secure my exit, I’ve been meaning to do it for three years now. I just keep putting it off. I guess I’m scared – I suppose just having it in the house means I’m more likely to use it. I also have other stuff I need to be concentrating on right now if I am going to keep living. I have a lot of work this week, I need to find new clients for after that, I have to sort some tax stuff, and I have to catch up on basic chores. And I only have a very limited amount of energy to do all that.
So maybe it will wait, for another week or so. Maybe people can resist bringing about a nuclear apocalypse for another week. But I should get the stuff, and soon. The world is only getting worse. And even if nothing catastrophic happens, I may just want to check out. I don’t want to feel like this anymore. And I can’t see any possibility of change, I’m way too far gone to ever live a normal life.
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Totally relatable. I have a post it note attached to my desk with two words on it – “Replace **n.”
I was forced to relinquish my method to police after a 3 hour standoff in 2021, and replacing it is as easy as ordering one, paying for it, easily passing a background check, and picking it up. Instant insurance against anything my sad mind desires, yet I just … havent … done it yet. But that’s ok. I work in a mega retail superstore, so any day now a lunatic with automatic weapons will walk in and single me out as the root cause of all the world’s problems and finish me off!
I can dream…
It’s kind of crazy to me that one could pass a background check after an incident like that – what was the point of even taking it from you in the first place.
The police were anxious to resolve the incident. They felt comfortable letting me leave the park I was at and allowing me to go home, without the **n, so I gave it to them. They filed a misdemeanor charge against me due to an accidental discharge during the incident, but my lawyer had the charge reduced to a “violation” provided I surrender the **n to the city for destruction. There was no arrest, no criminal conviction, which is what can disqualify a prospective buyer. As things stand now, the “violation” doesn’t show up on criminal background checks.
initially I was a little horrified by the thought, reflecting have things gotten so bad?
upon further self examination however, I find that my method of choice has been in arm’s reach for the past five months. Though as of today I have no intent to activate it, it is both comforting and shameful at the same time. I have kept it a secret from everyone in my life, but my wife does know how close I came just a few short months ago.
I still remember, suddenly I was staring at my method, at a way out, and the desire to go was greater than anything else I had ever experienced…… I jumped in my car and started driving, seeking to find some peaceful place where ideally my body would never be found…. and on that drive I talked myself out of it.
What even is a normal life anymore? Everyone I know is experiencing some form of anxiety or depression, it has reached a point that being suicidal is more common than thinking life is worth living….
Thus I rebel, as I am conditioned to, I must try and make my life worth living, if nothing else in defiance of the horrid apathy of our age.
Sounds like a noble aim. I find my own determination to make my life worth living is frequently undermined by observing the sheer scale of how much I’ve fucked it up. I’m so far behind in terms of social development and life experience, and I can’t see a meaningful path to get back on track. I’m completely alone and isolated, and I’m too old to shift the way I relate to others.
not meaning to minimalize or underestimate your situation, but I suspect you ascribe more ability and function within the ordinary population than is realistic. A fair amount of normal American adults stop maturing somewhere around age 20, and the only reason development is so slow from birth to 20 is as much a hardware as a software issue.
I’m also aware of, at least in myself, a fear of failure and intimidation by the size of projects, and that being an outgrowth of depression. When I look at something complex and lengthy to achieve, my natural impulse is to fear that I lack the will power to complete it.
Any progress is good progress is my point. Celebrate the little victories, and then try and build on them.
The metaphor I like is to imagine that I’m walking miles through a swamp. Ever walked through high water/mud? Miserable act. And it is one of those situations that the only way out is through. Standing still, the temptation to give up is immense. The greatest effort needed is to start walking. It’s an act of faith, believing dry land must exist somewhere. However, if you stand there knee deep in the muck, you’ll stay miserable.
It’s never too late. In my professional life I’ve met people who have destroyed their bodies, prematurely old and dying, and they still manage to make something of that. If they can, surely you or I can.
Well, when I look at the general population, in the main I see people with functioning relationships, friend groups, families, and the ability to be around others without crippling anxiety. All of which I lack, and have never really had. I think in many ways I stopped maturing around the age of 14, and in some ways even regressed. Not intellectually, but socially. I just never built up the skills to cope, and now I’m far too old for it to not be humiliating.
I daresay if I sucked it up, and somehow found the energy to really dedicate everything to it, I could make some progress. But for what? How many years of tortuous struggle would it take to get to the point where I was somewhat comfortable around people? And how many more until I was capable of sustaining some kind of relationship? And all of that time I would still be having to deal with feeling like this. And I just don’t have it in me. The weight of the despair is just too heavy to be pushing myself through that ordeal.
I have walked/waded through my share of swamps (we call them bogs here.) Although in my experience, it’s usually better to turn around and go back the way you came, rather than trying to push through them in the hopes that dry land exists ahead. But I suppose it depends on how much you want to reach the other side. There is certainly a sense of achievement to be found when you finally make it through, though you’ll often be covered in shit. Anyway, sorry if that messes up the metaphor.
You’re right that it’s never too late to make some progress, but some things just take too long for it to be worth it. I also think it’s easier to make the best of a situation if you have a healthy mind and a fucked body than the other way around. I haven’t destroyed my body (at least not terminally), but I have destroyed my mind, and my ability to function socially. I can’t see how I could cram 20 years of life experiences that I’ve avoided into whatever remains, even if my mind was still flexible enough to be shaped by it. I should be starting a family, settling down, building a career, all that shit by now. And instead in many ways I’m behind where most people are in their teens.
It was my hope that there might be some middle ground, someplace where you could be glad to get to, and getting to that place would be attainable.
I do think that people put too much value on careers, such as they are. Maybe it is a peculiarity of my life, I’ve watched more careers die than succeed. My professional life may well be over, and I’m not even halfway through my lifespan.
I think it matters which people, in terms of being comfortable around them. There are some people who it may be impossible to be comfortable around. I was just remembering my first wife, one of the rare species of human who understand nothing about me. Such people are a lost cause. However, there are kind and patient people, the sort that will only care about where you focus now and not the past. Such people are worth knowing, maybe even trusting.
It seems to me you want to replicate success that others have had, but that’s what it looks like for them. It probably looks different for you, if you were motivated by the things that motivate them, you’d be in a similar place to them.
It’s pointless, wishing things had been that weren’t, because we cannot make them so regardless of how hard we try. I don’t think ‘sucking it up’ works, because it is self deceptive, and deception doesn’t last.
It’s not an easy thing, what I’m trying to recommend, because I am trying to make my peace with it as well. I’ve put so much effort into very silly things, like keeping flowers alive. Yet, when it blooms I feel accomplished. Small things, all I will ever have, all I really need
again, maybe it is just a peculiarity of my situation, of the amount of grief and loss I have already processed, maybe I am already emotionally dead, and just waiting for my body to catch up. My body though, like my mind, and like my soul, cannot abide in inaction. So long as I breathe, I feel obligated to be of some use to someone or something
I don’t know what can come of your situation, friend. No one does, because the future is the product of choices made. I know you are braver than most, being willing to come to grips with your own darker nature, with your own self hatred. Some people live 60 years and never have the guts to look inward at their own shame.
So while socially it may be as you say, too little, too late, philosophically you are in a rarified space, and perhaps spiritually speaking as well. I’m grateful for that, at the very least, because there are vanishingly few people I can talk about such things and feel confident I will be understood.
I think my main concern career-wise is that I’m barely able to provide for myself financially. Aside from that, I suppose it would just be nice to be able to confidently tell people “I do x”. It’s kind of a way of giving yourself a place in the social hierarchy. I may get there one day, but I think it’ll be a long time before I have enough disposable income to try and improve my circumstances. At the moment it’s all getting swallowed by the rise in rents/prices. And I may be back to being unemployed next month. It’s like the world is upping the difficulty level, when I was just starting to make progress on easy-mode.
It does matter the sort of people you associate with, but even with kind/patient people, I find it hard to get really comfortable or maintain contact. It’s been so long since I’ve had even casual friends, and I did enjoy having company, but it was also really hard to cope with at times. I think establishing friendships is never really something I learned to do, and the prospect terrifies me. Allowing anyone in even a little is terrifying. I think being seen, being perceived, being judged, even superficially, is at the core of my neurosis.
Cultivating small accomplishments sounds like a healthy way to approach life. It’s just such a struggle to bring myself to do even the most essential tasks, when it all feels so hopeless. There’s nothing left in the tank for the silly/superfluous. Or rather, anything that takes effort/discipline/planning. The rest of the time, I live in a haze of fantasy and escape.
My mind and body crave inaction, though they are rarely at peace in it. I sometimes feel guilty for not being of more use, but rarely enough to sustain any consistent effort.
I don’t think it’s about being brave, so much as it is being unable to sufficiently delude myself about my own nature. When reality consistently provides you with a certain kind of evidence, it takes a disciplined inner narrative to combat it, which I don’t possess. When the world informs me that I’m a bad person, I don’t have a compelling enough story to convince myself otherwise, so I’m forced to concede that it has a point.
Philosophically, possibly. Spiritually, I doubt it. But I’m glad you feel you’ll be understood.