I cling to life, not to hope.
I personally have contemplated suicide for over 15 years… it’s tough to determine when I started considering it so I’ve approximated.
I realise that everyone has had different pasts and different reasons for considering suicide… but is moving past the idea of suicide, is it something that is truly genuinely possible? Moving past like never think of suicide again.
The only thing that i have been able to do is suppress the desire but it is always there… it just depends. I spend a lot of time ruminating about my past… I can’t seem to move past this either. I don’t have a lot of activity in my life (anxieties and dealing with long-term effects of my past)….
Just wondering what others people’s thoughts and perspectives… it would be a lie to say that I’m not trying.
I think there was a similar post on here but I thought I’d post again to see perhaps different insight.
Is there anyway to make it easier for the people that you leave behind? I have struggled many years adjusting from an existence of isolation…. I’m nearing the end and have thought of ways to make it easier. I have dropped hints and have asked the question to someone who I hold dear ” Would you be okay [go on with life] without me?”. I have spoken with my sister stating that I simply don’t know how long I’ll be around. I am in the process of getting rid of stuff that I own… I don’t think people that are helping me do this realise what the reasoning is for it. The fact of the matter is that I have had nothing but difficulties adjusting from my youth. …
Aside from making my will, eliminating my possessions, and the hints that I’ve dropped, I can’t think of anything else that I can do. I definitely don’t want to hurt the people who have tried to help me but simply put, there are some things (me) that cannot be fixed. It isn’t to say that I haven’t tried…. I’ve tried for over 15 years; I’m 34 and wanted to die since my approximate age of 16 (I remember breaking down in the shower many occasions for starters). I kept setting little milestones like I’ll go at my age 19, my age 25, 29, 30,… the milestones have gotten shorter and shorter.
Any ideas on how to make things easier aside from what I’ve covered?
To be or not to be, that is the question.
To be is temporary.
Not to be is an undeniable eventuality.
(I saw that on the Internet somewhere).
Apparently aspects of anxiety can lead into depersonalization…. something that I do honestly think I have. Depersonalization is apparently fairly common… anyone out there who feels that they’re depersonalised?
Life is like a wonderful toy. You give this wonderful toy to a toddler who loves playing with it until one day you take this wonderful toy away to the dismay of the toddler. It was the plan right from the start.
Why the flying fuck would you give the toddler the toy in the first place if your plan was just to take it away?
How does one *fix* the affects of abuse? You can’t fix that what is. You just learn to cope. No matter how hard one tries, the memories are still remain; forever haunting, forever there.
I have been told to dwell not on that what was but rather focus on what can be. I have always maintained that focusing (and influencing) one’s future is largely based on one’s past, as it is one’s past that makes up one’s present. It is one’s present that gives one strength and abilities to influence one’s future. We are after all the sum of all of our experiences.
One’s past = present = future.
It is a fluidic paradigm that is most incredible to change. But one must possess the strength and will for it to be so, to influence and change one’s future. What if one (me) just doesn’t give a fuck anymore?
I look back over my life, such as one does, and can now understand the difficulties that I’ve had. Notwithstanding that I grew up in semi-severe isolation (refer other posts) I know now that I have a mental illness of some sort. I have been diagnosed with depression and anxiety but these, I believe, are side issues to a greater matter not yet diagnosed. I wonder if I am on the autistic spectrum? Maybe something else? I know that I do not have schizophrenia for example (no offense to those who have it) …. I just know that there is something more.
I live in my own world, a world that is off-set to the real own. I avoid talking with people almost at all costs…. when I do speak I do not convey emotion; if I do it is like I have to process data in my head with the end analysis of data telling me to laugh. Same goes with smiling. For the most part I function with a blank face, distant and aloof.
The world doesn’t feel real anymore.
For a good part of my 20s I lived in a mental fog, whilst on medication. I functioned at work using my complex data analysis as above. My life was this: 8.30am to 5pm, function in the real world (though slightly offset)…. after 5pm I would go home and spend the rest of the evening lying in bed replaying the day, analysing, trying to find a balance of calmness. I was strung tightly. I made it work…. I hid my personal life from everyone. I home was a mess… disgusting actually. No one visited me at my home and I don’t know what I would have done if people did?
I believe that my parents have a mental illness and it was passed on to me. I grew up in isolation. I am finding myself mirroring what my mother and father did, my mother at least.
I am trying but I don’t see a favourable outcome…. regardless of treatments and therapies my mental state still remains…. I am at the point that I am perfectly content lying in bed with my eyes shut all day; the only thing that seems to bring peacefulness to me. Even the most basic task of getting out of bed has become a challenge. Leaving the house is overwhelming…. I spoke with my therapist about it and he’s unsure of what my options are. I am very tired and have managed to get to the ripe old age of 34. My 20s were spent in mental flux. I knew that there was something wrong with me…. something different… but I didn’t have the time, money, or abilities to deal with it and perhaps that is how I got through? I started to break at 30…
I want to live yet death seems to be my only option. The world is beautiful…. trees, greenery, the many different creatures, oceans and ocean waves hitting rock sides, etc…. I conclude that we all die in the end and me hanging on to the beauty in the world is only for a blink in time. Not all mental illnesses can be cured….
I know how I plan on checking out. I just have to find the ability to set it in motion.
I have read The Peaceful Pill and I think I know how I’d like to go. I won’t post it but knowing the how somehow gives me a slight sense of peace in amongst all the chaos.
A very small part of me tells me to keep going, struggle on. A mountainous part of me however speaks to the contrary telling me that my struggle has been long (and it has) with no hope of living any sort of life away from the angst that consumes me. I have posted before parts of my struggles. They don’t begin to explain the war that exists inside of me; my fears, pain, angst, self-doubt, anxieties, anger consume me to points of lacking functionality to a point of paralysis.
Abuse growing up can lead to a cataclysm of states of mind for the abused. You can take a person (or child) away from the abuse. You never take the abuse (experienced) out of the person (or child).
Abuse can take the forms of many different monsters, the monsters stay with the abused and manifest themselves into different forms forever taunting, never releasing their grasp. Counselling and therapy doesn’t take the monster away, no. Only you know the monsters for they remain elusive in their transformed forms, out of sight for all but only one to see: You. For only You can see them, or at the very least feel them; you know that they are there waiting. You gain strength; they wait and remain strong. You grow weak trying to stay strong. They do not grow tired for they are well at ease. If not for anything, the monsters keep you company; you are never truly alone.
It brings me comfort knowledge that my monsters will be silenced someday. I brings me comfort knowing too that what I intend to meet my demise.
As more and more countries adopt the idea of assisted suicide–thankfully of course–one has to ponder why assisted suicide is only available to those who are terminally ill and mentally sane? Why can the option be made available to those who are not terminally ill but yet mentally sane? Not everyone who is suicidal is mentally incompetent and lacking the ability to reason and/or understand the consequence of actions.
Canada has yet to adopt the rules and guidelines for assisted suicide. Thankfully due to a Supreme Court landmark decision, the court has made assisted suicide legal and gave a year for the Government of Canada to forge the necessary laws surrounding it. Without reviewing the legislation I am willing to bet that the requirements will look something like this: i) terminally ill with remaining life expectation of less than 6 mos; ii) deemed mentally competent; iii) has expressed desire to die by euthanasia; iv) diagnosis of life expectancy and mental competency correlated by more than one physician. These are aspects of the framework that was offered by the Supreme Court.
As I write this, do I come across as someone who is incompetent? Do I come across as mentally insane? Probably not. I will grant that I am medicated *technically* for depression and anxiety though I am confident that it is more than this and has to do with my internal wiring. Am I wrong? I have expressed this to psychiatrists and psychologists, all of whom seem to know me better than I know myself.
Life to me is routine. I go to bed at night. I wake up in the morning. I shower. I have something to eat. I check the news. I somehow manage to wander into the outside world. I interact with people on a very superficial level when confronted with the need to interact–I try to avoid verbal interaction at every point that I can. No matter what I do it always seems the same thing day in and day out; it is boring and mundane.
I will not get into my past and the environment in which I was raised. That is available on a separate post. That said, it boggles my mind why society cares so much about keeping me alive. If society cares so much how is it that I experienced the levels of abuse growing up? Perhaps if society cared so much then as society does now I may not be in the same predicament as I am now. I know the cards that I have been dealt in the poker game of life. I have a losing hand, the deck is and remaims stacked. I want to fold, I know that I am not going to win. No one cares. But yet society wants me to play my hand and keep playing though I know that regardless of what I do the deck remains stacked to the advantage of others (others who do not have the same level of challenges).
I want to die. I am perhaps described as apathetic. There isn’t a pill for that. Is it the words of “I want to die” in that order that makes me insane and not mentally competent? Do the words that I have forged together in this post not have coherency? Why must the circumstances for entitlement to chose my destiny be contingent on a terminal illness, bearing in mind that we are all terminal given the fact that we all die in the end. It is because I am not terminally ill (with some sort of disease that qualifies) I am forced to explore avenues that may or may not guarantee my demise which is disconcerting to me. It also disconcerts me of what someone else will find. These two points are simply not fair. There are tonnes of ways to die by choice–hanging, overdose, cutting, etc. None of these are guaranteed to be of success, failure is less than desirable. And so I remain, doomed to die in the end playing the hand that I’ve been dealt and going through the motions of “life”. I exist. I do not live. And here I remain (for now) until I meet my demise either at my own hand or by fate. Regardless of such, the ending remains the same, that being infinite peaceful darkness the question remains however of when.
Many of us live in countries of freedom. The Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms states that every Canadian has the right to … life, liberty, and security. With everything that I have stated we still do not live in a free society. The ultimate freedom yet remains elusive and out of reach; the ultimate freedom is for one to chose one’s one demise regardless of one’s medical diagnosis.
It is tough for me to explain and on the added front, it is tough for other people to understand as well. In the end, I am another person who wants to die but at the same time hangs on.
I definitely did not grow up “usual”. I grew up best described as isolated on a farm. I am the youngest. I have two older siblings, a sister (5 years older) and a brother (7 years older). We attended church and I attended Sunday school which was the sole social interaction that I had for my first 5 or so years of life. It was extremely rare for much more social contact than that. There was not any routine social interaction with other people–no relatives, aunts, uncles, or friends. At my age 5 I started kindergarten and was finally exposed to other children on a routine basis. I took to school and kindergarten pretty well though it was a little overwhelming at first. Any friends that I made at school had to stay at school; I was not able to bring any friends to the farm.
With the above said, that was my routine for the first 16 years of my life. I couldn’t understand fellow students lives–visiting with people, sleepovers, visits with aunts and uncles, etc. As time progressed I became inward at school, just trying to get by. Yes, I was picked on. For whatever reason I tried to keep a smile on face thinking that “it’ll get better”.
My father was (is) emotionally absent. He, for whatever reason, didn’t spend much, if any, time with his children. Such routine activities such as playing/teaching hockey, playing ball, helping and guiding his children. All absent. To add things, he generally didn’t speak to his children directly but rather send communiques to his children through our mother. Visa versa is true where, at least for me, I would communicate to my father through my mother.
My mother was (is) overly religious and because of this listening to music on the radio was forbidden and was seen as evil. Television wasn’t as limited per se as long as we watched educational programming and/or children’s programs. My mother kept a firm grip on her family and overtime became emotionally abusive toward my father. I am not sure when it started but my mother would do such things as purposely hide the television remote from my father, prevent him from eating certain things from the fridge (though her children did not have the same restriction), would not permit him to eat snack foods (though, similar too, her children did not have the same restriction), restrict the satellite channels on television that he could watch (children could watch whatever). My mother would also talk with me about her methodology–she would also complain and go on about how poor of a father he is. Such activities still occur to this day so I am told. My mother would also “do stuff” to exclude my father from family activities–grocery shopping for example.
With the isolation, I don’t think it needs to be said that my parents were recluse–also known as hermits.
At my age 16 I was socially withdrawn. I still went to school and graduated. I was the quiet one. I am not entirely sure what kept me going–I still ask that myself. I never could quite understand the social networking, how other kids would socialize with such ease–create new friends, navigate the social playing field, etc. I can reasonably say that I was “alright” when I was in an element that I was familiar–school and home. Anything out of these I was overwhelmed but tried to maintain calmness. I went to a few parties–I tried–but oftentimes was made fun of quite bad; I was the quiet one.
I did end up going to college and ended up obtaining a career with a bank which started to open my eyes to the things that I never had an opportunity to see and experience growing up. Perhaps call it an awakening? I spent much of my 20s in mental flux–trying my best to make sense of everything, trying to connect the dots. I still lacked a social life as this was painfully difficult. For those who grew up socialized, socialization isn’t necessarily difficult.
Looking at my life from an overview standpoint, I have toughed much of it out. I have had to do so many things myself. Figure things out myself. I should have asked for help but didn’t–there was a rule that we weren’t to talk about life on the farm so asking for help would have been detriment.
I have been passive-suicidal since my approximate age 16; I am 34 now. I have asked the question to myself over and over: To be or not to be? I have struggled through so much. I have tried so no one can say that I didn’t. I live alone. I am estranged from my family. I have mental issues which can be attributed to my youth: social anxiety/aversion. I am heavily medicated. I technically work but am presently on disability–things just got too much. There is more that I can add but I don’t see any point.
I have spoken to different professionals. My youth has been compared to being cult-like. I come from a very dysfunctional family, a disillusioned mother, an emotionally absent father, and social isolation that is close to (if not is) severe. But yet I have trudged on. I have. I have tried. I suffer now from my own mind. Suicide is a daily thought. I have explained it to mental health professionals the suicide thoughts–at the end of the day no matter how far along I come with my own development I can never get back that what is lost. People who grow up with a background similar to mine oftentimes spend the remainder of their lives struggling, trying to figure things out. For me I ask myself what the point to is (figuring things out and continuing to mentally struggle) if we just die in the end. We are born to die, what experiences we have during our lifetime is irrelevant. While people around me today perhaps find my existence relevant, looking into the future perhaps a 100 years to what degree was my existence relevant. I understand and realize that every action that we do has an inherent cause and effect and my existence may have somehow influenced someone else to do something resulting in a infinite cataclysm of cause and effects. I have struggled for so many years. I am tired–oh so very tired. I want to cease to exist but not die.