The animal in me wants to survive at any cost, to reproduce. It’s strong enough to make me fear death, to hinder me in killing myself. But it’s not strong enough to actually drive me to succeed in life. It’s constantly undermined by the asshole personality I’ve developed since I was a child, that always wants to withdraw, to reflect, to stand back from life and observe. That would rather be miserable about the past than focus on the future, because that somehow seems more meaningful. That is constitutionally incapable of being happy.
It’s hard for me to weigh up the good that would come from ending myself, from removing this level of neurosis from existence, against the suffering that would cause to my family. They don’t deserve it, and they live somewhat functional and fulfilled lives. I don’t like the thought of what it would put them through, especially my mother. They’ve tried so hard to help me over the years. I owe them so much, and it seems like such a slap in the face to them to put them through that after all they’ve done.
But…I just don’t think I can bring myself to be content. Or even semi-functional as a human being. I’m so emotionally isolated, and I’ve been this way for so long – it’s who I am, my personality. I can’t imagine not feeling this way. And it sucks. It’s not even that it “hurts”, as that would at least be a clear emotional experience. It’s that my whole mind is consumed by regret, and self-hatred, and despair, and it all just washes around like this murky poisonous sea. It’s all I am now. And I don’t want to be this anymore. And I don’t think I can change it. So part of me wants to be put out of my misery.
But would it be worth it, if it meant detonating a bomb under the lives of my family? Probably not, if I try to look at it objectively. But I also don’t know how much longer I can stand being this. Every year makes it harder to bear.
4 comments
what would succeeding in life look like?
I think that’s a big part of the problem. On a basic level, I suppose it would be getting to where most of my peers are – a partner, a family, a stable career, a mortgage. But because of how fucked up I am, I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t start a family. And I find it very hard to imagine being able to be with a partner, even if I could find someone I wanted to be with. My emotional drives are undermined by intellectual assessments of my reality. So what’s the point?
It might just be that I’ve worked with some really screwed up families, but if you can keep your kids away from sex criminals and drugs, you’re doing above average. The bar for parenthood is so low… getting the kid in the first place is the hardest part, and even so it is achievable. If you’re worried either about not getting a partner or genetics, you could adopt. There are so many kids with dark pasts that would probably appreciate your experience and empathy.
What is the point though? My perspective is if you’re already obligated to stay alive, might as well try to make it a less miserable experience. Small comforts, small luxuries, they can add up to something worthwhile, at least more worthwhile than nothing at all.
It’s complicated, and there’s important stuff I won’t go into, but it seems to me that I suffer far more than is typical or necessary when compared to the average person. I’m hyper-sensitive and score extremely highly in measures of neuroticism. Things upset me far more than is typical or adaptive. I can see some of the same traits in my parents, both of whom I believe suffered depression at some point in their lives, but it seems like I got a concentrated “double dose” of it.
I don’t know how much of that is genetic, and how much is from upbringing and copying patterns of behaviour, but I have no confidence that I could avoid passing it on to another generation. And that seems deeply unfair, to inflict someone else with this experience, without being able to offer a solution. Besides which, if I did so, I would feel even more obligation to stay, and would effectively trap myself in this life past the death of my parents and into old age.
I completely agree with the logic of “trying to make it a less miserable experience.” I do find though that as I get older, small comforts/luxuries provide diminishing respite. It’s like I’m dropping tiny grains of sand into a vast chasm of meaninglessness.