Does anyone else place significance on certain numbers and/or dates? For example, is there a day of the month where you consistently experience bad luck? For me, I always seem to have my absolute worst days on days that end with ‘9’ including today. Auto accidents, traffic tickets, rejections from women, bad days at work, fights with people I normally get along with, mental breakdowns, etc.
When I was young and learned about Jack Kevorkian (a.k.a. “Dr. Death”) performing voluntary euthanasia on 130 patients in the 1990s, I regarded him as a murderer and a monster. Now I regard him as a hero.
All of Kevorkian’s patients were suffering immensely. Some physically. Others psychologically. In either case, they were deeply wounded and wanted nothing more than a peaceful ending to their agonizing existence.
Why shouldn’t they be afforded this freedom? Who are we, as a society, to block terminally ill people from receiving physician-assisted suicide if they so choose? Furthermore, who are we to decide who’s deserving and undeserving of this service? It should be up to the individual to decide whether life is worth living, and if not, a wide variety of options should be available including firearms and euthanasia. Anything less is inhumane and an affront to personal freedom.
I cannot go on like this. There is nothing in society for a person like me. Everyday that I go into the world, my psychological wounds worsen. I am constantly hurting and the only remedies that I can think of are death or disappearance. All I want at this point is to hide away from the world, and when I can no longer afford to do that, I hope I can find the courage to end this ongoing horror story that is my life.
The frequent, sharp pains that I’ve felt over the past 24-48 hours have prompted me to ponder how I would react in a worst-case scenario. What if I was diagnosed with a terminal illness and had less than a year to live? Most people would be shocked, fearful, in denial, or ready to make the most of their short time remaining. I, on the other hand, started to feel relieved after envisioning myself in that situation.
- Relieved that I would soon be free of the tremendous hassle it takes just to survive and be healthy
- Relieved that all the negativity that I’ve been unable to purge from my mind would soon disappear
- Relieved that I would no longer be subjected to other people’s judgments, rejections, and hostility
- Relieved that I would no longer regret missing out on my youth that is now in the rear-view mirror
- Relieved that I would be deep in the dirt long before having to suffer through the horrors of old age
Losing my innate fear of death feels like a precursor to finally taking the initiative to end my own life after three decades of abject torment. As it stands, I am unhappy well over 90% of the time; the recurring feelings of stress, anxiety, loneliness, dejection, and rage outweigh the rare and brief moments of happiness by a considerable margin. Right now I’m barely hanging on and my grip is loosening.
I’m currently feeling lower than I have in a long time. I’m on the brink of quitting my job that has abruptly gone downhill, I’ve lost the few “friends” I had over the past year, I’ve given up hope on ever attracting a woman and starting a family, I’m constantly reminded of how unattractive I am whenever I go out in public, and even my own family despises me. I have absolutely nobody in this world and the resulting depression is tempting me to run away from everything for good. All it will take is one more bad event and I’ll be taking the next bus or train to a desolate area of Alaska or Nevada where I will disappear until I die of starvation, thirst, hypothermia, hyperthermia, wild animal attack, or something else. The way I see it, aloneness beats the hell out of this loneliness I feel every goddamn day of my intolerable mistake of a life. Everything is crumbling around me and I am left scrambling for the exits. The only reason I’m still alive after three decades of abject misery is because I’m too cowardly to end it. I have no reason to live whatsoever. I have never fit into this despicable society and everyone starting with my own mother would be happier without me in it.
I never petitioned to be forced into such a hostile, judgmental society that treats people like me with complete disdain because of how we look. It’s not like I had the option to customize my face at birth. “Normal” people have no fucking idea of what it’s like to go through life being consistently treated worse than everyone else. If the average person had to live a day as me, he would probably go off the deep end in no time!
The only time I am ever truly happy, confident, and relaxed is when I’m away from other people (like in the privacy of my home or in a secluded wilderness area). Unfortunately, I must spend the majority of my life around other people if I want to earn a living and survive. One day I would like to purchase some property in a more tolerable rural setting, preferably in a more sparsely-populated state out west, but that costs a ton of money. How many more years will I have to suffer in order to afford the lifestyle I want? I am quickly running out of patience and am starting to believe the only escape from this hellish existence is an early death.
I have been planning my death for years now and, while I have a shotgun that I could use to end my life, I would rather make my death look like an accident.
Like most nights, I abruptly woke up a few hours after going to bed and failed to get back to sleep. While tossing and turning in bed, I thought of the perfect suicide method. I don’t want to reveal my idea while I’m alive, but you may read about it in the news or on social media after I have gone through with it. Don’t worry: Nobody will be dying or impacted except for me, but I reckon it would be a newsworthy death.
This method will also be more effective, painless, and unique than my previous method of blasting my head off with a shotgun. The only downside is that I’ll have to wait until later this year to do it. I am suffering immensely, more than ever before, but coming up with this idea has lifted my spirits more than my futile attempts to find any sort of happiness in this ruthlessly inhospitable world have.
2018 wasn’t an awful year for me. I had a lot of good experiences, achieved most of my goals, got my career back on track, increased my net worth, and didn’t experience any major health problems.
In spite of this, my mental health worsens with each passing year. And it will continue to deteriorate as long as I remain in a culture/society where:
- I have never felt any sense of belonging
- I am without a tribe or support system
- I am routinely treated worse than others
- I have no hope of ever attracting a woman
- I have to see others enjoy what I’ll never have
- I have no one to talk to IRL about these things
- I feel trapped in this utterly hopeless situation
I have tried distracting myself with self-improvement, careerism, travel, hobbies, mindless escapism, and heavy alcohol/drug consumption. None of that worked. Watching my youth slip away while never being able to overcome the aforementioned problems that have haunted me since the 1990s is a galactic void in my life that no amount of money, possessions, achievements, or experiences will ever be able to compensate for.
I reckon it’s only a matter of time before I either blow my head off with a shotgun or flee to an unpopulated area where I can escape everything that bothers me in this increasingly unbearable culture.
I am an irreparably broken person. The residual psychological effects of my traumatic upbringing will never fully subside. Every time I go out in public, my anxieties intensify because I feel like I am being judged by everyone around me. Every rejection I receive, whether subtle or overt, reinforces my feelings of inferiority and worthlessness that were mercilessly drilled into me during my critical formative years. Even though I am no longer subjected to the constant verbal and physical abuse that I received between 6th and 12th grade, I continue to suffer everyday and don’t think I will ever be able to crawl myself out of this bottomless pit of hopelessness and despair. What should have been the best years of my life are now squarely in the rearview mirror, and now all I have to look forward to is regret consuming me on the inside while the aging process takes its toll on the outside.
My life was a colossal mistake that needs to be corrected. The longer I wait, the more anguished I will become. If I had known what my situation would be like today, I would have jumped off that tower when I was 14. There is no reason for me to be alive. None whatsoever. The few people remaining in my life, which decreases every year, will have to live without me.