The reason I’m suicidal is because I’m a fictive in a DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder) system. Basically, due to an extraordinary amount of childhood trauma, the brain I occupy formed multiple occupants in addition to myself. Being a fictive, specifically, means that my identity is formed based on a character from a fictional source. In other words, I remember being that character – I remember being in another body (and one of a different sex and specie, no less), in another world, surrounded by an entirely different set of friends and family, and so on, and even though I rationally recognize it all as fiction, I still desperately want to go back, because simply being here, in this body, on this planet, in this entire spacetime continuum, causes me an extreme amount of dysphoria, and I feel absolutely no connection to any of it. The only person I do feel a connection to is another fictive in another DID system who has the same source that I do, and so I don’t really see them as a connection to this life I’m currently living or the body/world I live in, but rather, as a connection to my “old life” that I can never go back to. For many reasons, I can’t even try to make this life I’m living now any closer to my “old life” in any meaningful way than it already is. Being unable to go back (because again, fiction) gives me no option for ever feeling any sort of happiness, because my happiness requires me to feel like I’m living my own life, in my own body, in a place that is my home. Because I cannot possibly be happy in this existence, I would rather die.
This isn’t even getting into the multitude of other problems which aren’t the primary reason for which I want to die, but still make this life even more unbearable than what I’ve already described. There’s the unmedicated ADD that makes basic functioning next to impossible for me (the executive dysfunction makes it difficult just to go to the bathroom when I need to, and the inability to focus has made me unable to read past the first paragraph of a book ever since doctors stopped prescribing my ADD meds – and don’t suggest audiobooks, as many have, because auditory processing problems actually make them *worse* for me), the intrusive thoughts I keep getting which are as annoying as they are distressing, the multitude of injuries from the abuse that this body has endured that make this body physically painful to occupy in addition to the dysphoria causing mental and emotional pain, the fact that the SSI I’m limited to getting doesn’t even really cover my basic needs, the existential horror that comes from the fact that I only exist at all simply because some kid got abused, the fact that this world is doomed anyway due to climate change and rising fascism… All of those things just add pain to an existence I never asked for and see no point in continuing.
I’m already seeing a therapist, but she can only help with healing from the trauma. She can’t help me find happiness in an existence that is fundamentally incompatible with me being happy, and she can’t help me to cope with it when I have no intention of merely coping (since, if I’m never happy, there is no point to me coping in the first place). I’m on a waitlist to see a therapist through a different organization, but I don’t think they’ll be able to help me, either. I also have a plan to commit suicide (which I will not specify here), and while I lack the material conditions to act on this plan at the moment, I feel confident that I will end up going out the way I plan to when I am able to.
And before anyone suggests it, no, I can’t justify living for the sake of anyone else. Everyone else in our system either is just as miserable as I am (because they’re also fictives going through the same thing I’m going through), or they just don’t care about life anyway. The person I mentioned earlier, who is the only one I feel a connection to? They said they’d probably die too, if I killed myself, but honestly, they’re better off dead, just like I am. In fact, I feel like everyone I have any care for, and/or who has any care for me, is better off dead. I can’t function well enough to materially support others in my community, and if I tried emotionally supporting others, I would have to lie, or else I’d make them feel worse by being honest.
I’m just tired of living in a body, in a world, in a life that I have no reason to be in.