I find it absolutely amazing how a simple plant can banish all suicidal thoughts for me. It’s a Saturday, the clock is about to strike 1pm, I’ve been up since 9, every errand I had to do today has been completed and now it’s time for me to roll a joint. Suicide is in my mind but as soon as the THC hits me suicidal thoughts will be kept at arms length, my problems will remain but the pleasure of the high will wipe suicide from my mind. Unfortunately due to various responsibilities/obligations I can’t smoke during the other days of the week but I’ll passionately indulge come Saturday.
But is usually the tragic result of untreated psychiatric disorders” so says an independent government report by top experts. I couldn’t agree more, I’ve always had a nervous sensation in my gut telling me my suicide was not in my control, that I would do it someday. The only part of the statement I take exception to is the ” untreated” part concerning psychiatric disorders. These disorders are NOT treatable. Antidepressants, antipsychotic etc turn you into a vegetable, therapy doesn’t work, so suicide is inevitable.
That line was in a movie concerning how a man behaves when a woman hands herself to him on a plate, you don’t want to belong to a club that would have someone like you as a member. I first heard that line in my teens and found it a bit far fetched, surely I wouldn’t be a guy who behaves like that but no, I have a 9 chasing me, texting round the clock, comparing me favourably to the pieces of shit available for women online,,asking me out when she previously said women don’t ask men out and I’m no happier, every guy thinks if a 9 was after him you’d be happy but you’re not. Growing up in a Mickey mouse Catholic country where the boys are separated from the girls in the educational system I grew up awkward around women confirming the saying “every man is a product of his environment”. It was only when I entered the working world that I learned how to interact with women and view the Catholic church with the disdain it deserves. Now I’m currently faced with a decision whether to take up an attractive woman but that will also mean taking up the realities of this world, and I fear that word reality. There’s no word more hideous in the English language than reality, we all know what it implies – monotony, disappointment, boredom, an uneasy co-mingling of your aspirations and what’s actually attainable. Perhaps for those reasons I don’t want to belong to a club that would have someone like me for a reason.
When it comes to suicide you have to really want it in order to succeed. I look back on my own biography and the suicide attempts I undertook and I have to ask myself the question “did I really want it? Was my heart really in it? Any man who chooses sleeping pills has really answered NO to those two questions. How mentally ill was I to choose sleeping pills? I’ve paid dearly for that choice and will continue to. I could of avoided ten years of hell but no I had to be stupid enough to go with pills, the least effective method known to man. There can be no fucking around when it comes to suicide, you either go through with it or you don’t. You jump off the sunshine skyway bridge in Florida you really wanted it, you jump off the George Washington bridge in New York you definitely meant business, you jump off the Cillfs of Moher in Ireland you wanted certainty, you jump off Beachy head in England you wanted it 100 percent. But no, not me, I had to be insane enough to choose pills and am now paying the price.
I didn’t ask for life, just like everybody else it was imposed upon me. I can’t get suicide out of my head, it’s omnipresent within my train of thought, that’s the way a guy like me thinks, that’s my mentality, I tried everything to no avail, at the end of the day you cannot escape from yourself. I always knew deep down there was no hope but I procrastinated, the fruits of procrastination are intense punishment, life punishes procrastinators relentlessly. Why didn’t I take my life years ago? What the fuck was I thinking to continue with my life, I continued so my family wouldn’t get that phonecall.. ” he was found hanging in woodland”. Such a phonecall destroys families but it happens everyday, all over the world.
- With this hideous virus gripping the world I knew getting my hands on top shelf weed was gonna be problematic. Let’s face it, everyone is now living in a police state, and this means getting weed was gonna be hard. Luckily I forged a friendship with a grower who knows other growers so I knew he’d put some aside for me, the problem was gonna be getting there and back. Essential journeys we keep hearing are the only tolerated reason to be driving and this is now being enforced by a visible police presence world wide. I understand the need for this and obey social distancing myself but I also LOVE weed and being cocooned at home without is not my idea of a good time. So when I got a txt confirming the weed was there it was a question of Hobson’s choice, was I prepared to drive from the southside to the Northside with the possibility nay probability of encountering police en route, I most certainly was. I spoke to my connection outlining the need for social distancing, they were just as eager as me to remain virus free, so no problem on that front. So now the car journey had to made, a journey requiring the use of Google maps on my phone otherwise I’d get lost. I’m on the motorway, everything fine and my internet goes along with Google maps, I take a wrong exit off the motorway and end up totally fucking lost somewhere near the airport. The gas is running low in my car, the phones gonna die and I can’t access Google maps. Miraculously the internet connection returns along with Google maps with reroutes right back in the correct direction. I’m driving as fast as possible, get to my connection in record time, these guys always like to talk, not because they’re sociable creatures but from paranoia, it looks bad you pulling into their yard and then leaving 2 minutes later, so they normally like to talk for a least 20 mins, however due to the virus there’s very little talk, I pocket the weed and drive home, No police checkpoints whatsoever, a few police cars passed on the motorway but that was it, I guess I got lucky.
I took like a duck to water to the work of the film Director Ingmar Bergman some years ago. Everything I ever felt about life, particularly the way I see things was there in his movies. Suicide was mentioned, in both his work and life, this drew me closer. He recounted a terrible tale in his autobiography which I think is very applicable to anyone on this site who might be holding hope in psychiatric help, it certainly would of helped me. In 1976 the Swedish authorities arrested Bergman on suspicion of tax evasion, Bergman had a breakdown as a result and was admitted to a psychiatric hospital, he was administered valium during the day and strong sleeping pills at night. The days passed, the weeks passed. One day Bergman asked the head psychiatrist ” Has Psychiatric treatment ever cured anyone”? The head psychiatrist replied ” Cure is a very big word”, smiled encouragingly and continued his rounds. Bergman discharged himself and got back into the real world. Do not under any circumstances put your hope in psychiatry or any of its offshoots, you will get worse not better. One disappointment too many could push you to suicide.
I find it mystifying how ” normies” (a phrase I discovered on this site referring to the non suicidal) actually believe suicide is a choice. You’ll often hear remarks such as ” he chose to end his life”, ” he made the decision to end his life”. Incorrect, dreadfully incorrect. Suicide is never chosen it is imposed upon you. It’s like the old excuse of the alcoholic ” I didn’t choose the drink, the drink chose me”. Suicide chooses you, it’s not the other way round. Nobody in human history ever chose suicide it was employed because there was no other way, no other option, their hands were tied, simple as. I hope the people I leave behind can see it from that perspective, I doubt it, but that’s my hope.
If you make it look look like an accident is it easier for your family? Any death is tragic but suicide takes first prize, so it stands to reason a car accident would be easier to accept, family don’t have to face a reflection such as ” he was in that much pain, he went against the natural law of life and killed himself”. These single vehicle accidents late at night you hear about are mostly suicides, carefully orchestrated to look like accidents to prevent the family left behind unbearable reflections. All I would have to do is leave the road at a respectable velocity and steer into a tree or lamppost, job done in a split second, and it looks like an accident. The toxicology report would reveal traces of cannabis and Ambien in the bloodstream and this leads further credence to the hypothesis it was an accident and definitely not a suicide.
The nitty gritty of therapy declares you get your head taken off enough as a kid then you start taking off your own head ad infinitum. Other to self (an external force denigrates you repeatedly) self to self ( you start denigrating yourself). My mother took my head off constantly as a kid, a difficult woman, one of the most difficult women on the planet, subject to mood swings, hostile, spiteful, a nurturer of everybody else’s kids except her own. I remember once when I was 9, my brother 7, she was in the kitchen like a demon, clattering plates together, a friend of hers had been boasting how great her kids were and she decided to take it out on us ” she’s got great kids, what do I have, cabbages”. With a mother like that who needs enemies. I won’t mention her in my suicide note.
Hope is more or less lethal for the suicidal. You wake up one morning and realize that the joke was on you all along, there was never any hope, you were at the mercy of delusion, the delusion we call hope. The only time I can breathe is when I hear about a suicide. For a few fleeting moments my pain decreases just knowing that somebody else felt the same and just had to go. I would of liked to have known them, known their story, and checked out with them.
I watched a video on YouTube last night featuring a mother, a very brave lady I hasten to add, talking about her daughter’s suicide. She summed up the final moment perfectly with this sentence ” sometime during the night my daughter abandoned all hope”. That’s what it takes to go through with it in the end, the abandonment of all hope. My last attempt was 8 years ago, foolishly I chose the sleeping pill method, a notorious method, notorious by virtue of the fact it seldom works. Why didn’t I go with hanging or jumping? I would of avoided 8 years of hell and be resting in the cemetery instead of writing this. Perhaps on a subconscious level I hadn’t yet abandoned all hope and therefore chose an unreliable method. I’m starting to feel calm now because I know I’ve gone beyond the point of no return, abandoning all hope, and am fully aware that my previous attempts were rehearsals for the real deal. Next time it will be the real deal, there is no other outcome for someone existing without a grain of hope.
It’s the season not to be without marijuana if that be your thing. Christmas brings despair down hard on the suicidal and with the long dark days of the holidays ahead marijuana is of paramount importance to me. This time last year I found myself without and it was hell. I had recourse to alcohol and that only exacerbated the unhappiness. I don’t get how anyone can equate alcohol with pleasure. For me the sensation of drunkenness is quite dreary and depressing. Then there’s the labour required to get drunk, ingesting all that liquid, passing water like a racehorse, and a hangover the next day. It’s just not for me. Weed on the other hand requires only minutes to achieve bliss, no hangover, and for me certainly no depressing effects. I have 100 euros worth of top shelf weed to get me through Christmas. That will hopefully keep me away from alcohol for the duration of the holidays.
- There’s a suicide in the movie “An officer and a Gentleman”. It’s been a while since I’ve seen that movie but the scene in question I can recall vividly. The Richard Gere character cradles the lifeless body of his friend who moments earlier took his life and rebukes the dead friend with these questions ” why didn’t you come to me?” ” Why didn’t you talk about it?”. Both those questions strike a chord with me because I HAVE CAME TO MY LOVED ONES and I HAVE TALKED ABOUT IT. There’s is nothing more I can do. I exhibit every sign of a guy who will die by suicide, it can’t come as a surprise. My parents are approaching Seventy so my suicide will hasten their deaths but their approaching the final stage of their lives anyway. It’s my brother who will be hit hardest by my suicide as he’s still in his thirties. Suicide destroys families but for me there is no other way out, and I know deep down that I did reach out, I did give my family notice of what was going to happen and that brings some small relief. The worst suicide to handle has to be when there was no warning signs, that’s not the case with me, forewarned is forearmed they say.
Did you ever notice how there is never a right time to take your life? There’s always a family occasion, celebration or anniversary, and now with Christmas just around the corner the timing for my suicide couldn’t be worse. I don’t think I can hang on until January. Christmas brings out the worst in suicidal people, it highlights the abnormality of your life compared to the normality of everybody else. One thing I refuse to be is the guy who took his life without giving his family adequate warning. I’ve actually asked for my family’s permission to end my life so there will be no agonizing what if questions after im gone. My family didn’t go for it so I’ll have to take my life regardless. It’s really just a question of timing, it would be wrong to suicide in December because of the holidays but January seems like a long way off. All I have to do is drive to the mountains with a hose in my car, it will be quite easy, but this is the worst time of the year for a family to get such tragic news so I’m stuck for the time being.
Just procured some Trainwreck strain of marijuana. 100 euros worth to be precise. Things are bad, real bad, this will help if only for a few hours. It’s ironic the strain is named Trainwreck considering I think more and more of suicide by train with each passing day. Anyway gonna spark up a joint and escape from the unbearable reality of my life for the evening.
It had to happen and happen it did, it happened in stern reality. The law of averages, the law of probability pointed towards it happening, it was bound to happen, only a matter of time before it happened. Any man deceiving multiple doctors, pharmacists etc in pursuit of Ambien will be caught eventually, irrespective of how careful you are. I got away with it for a good ten years, then last month whilst getting Ambien as per usual in a pharmacy, the pharmacist gave me a strange look and said ” according to my records you’re registered with another doctor”. I kept a cool head, played dumb, and rejoined with ” there must be a mistake”. The pharmacist probed no further, handed over the Ambien and I left thinking will she alert the doctor whose registration had been discovered and then will he alert another doctor who I’m getting Ambien off? It seemed so farfetched I gave it a 10 percent chance of happening and put it out of my mind. Fast forward two weeks, I walk into a doctor, the family doctor, whose history with my family goes back decades, having totally forgot about the strange incident with the pharmacist, I notice a look of displeasure on his face and he says ” I’ve a big problem with you, it’s been brought to my attention you’re registered with another doctor and have been getting Ambien off him also, I can’t prescribe anymore”. The shock hit me so hard I was preternaturally calm, I didn’t offer an excuse, apology, or explanation, I said ” okay” and walked out off the office. I now thought has the second doctor been alerted and gave it a 50 percent possibly. I walked into him, exact same routine as previous doctor ” you’ve been getting Ambien from another doctor, I don’t want you as a patient, this is illegal, all trust has been broken”.I was so shocked I just didn’t care said ” okay” and left. My ability to obtain Ambien, and the part it plays in keeping me from suicide has been reduced considerably.
By chance I stumbled across this channel on YouTube called Mr.Caring guy. It’s this guy that documents people who lost their lives to suicide. This is right up my alley. Every report of a suicide on the news or in the paper I can relate to. Just knowing that one human being on the planet felt the same as me and ended their life makes me feel less alone. The biographies of the people on this YouTube channel I mentioned earlier are very relatable. YouTube are somewhat PC so they might take this channel down at anytime. That would be doing a disservice to suicidal people. So if like me you’re seriously suicidal this channel might make sense, you might feel less alone knowing that people of all backgrounds took the plunge before you.
Whilst driving to collect weed this morning my phone bleeped a text message alert. ” Here we go” I thought, there’s a problem. I clicked on the text with trepidation, it read ” man, I forgot that”, I couldn’t fucking believe it, I was halfway out to meet my connection and at the eleventh hour he texts an excuse of forgetfulness. No apology , just a declaration the weed had been forgotten. I read the text again, perhaps I had misinterpreted it. Perhaps this guy has been reading James Joyce, particularly ” Finnegan’s Wake” where English is written as a composite language. Perhaps “man, I forgot that” really means ” No problem my end, drop out to collect your weed at your earliest convenience”. No such luck. The more intense your suicidal feelings the more relief marijuana provides. Alcohol is no friend of the suicidal character, Above 50 percent of all suicides have alcohol in their bloodstream. Alcohol is cheap for a reason, pot retails at 10 euro per joint. Everything has a value in the marketplace, the market is saying loud and clear that alcohol is garbage. I remember a slogan on a T-SHIRT “God made grass, man made booze, who do you trust?” A truism is ever there was one.
When I was getting into the car this morning the exhaust pipe caught my eye. The image of a hose leading from the exhaust pipe into the passenger window took up residence in my imagination. A painless, effective way to check out. Unless a passerby stumbles across the scene and alerts authorities it has to prove fatal. It takes about 10 minutes reputedly. I would drive to a secluded, mountainous region nearby, follow out the procedure in question and that’s it. No more agony, internal terror, regret, humiliation, it’s all over. The door of every facet of life is closed to me so I have to commit suicide, not voluntarily but under duress. The car method seems as good a method as any. It was under my nose all this time and only today am I considering it. Evidently catalytic converters were introduced to cars to limit the efficacy of this method but it still works, it’s still common. I might have the solution I’ve been looking for.
I’ve had enough of Doctor shopping. You go to a Doctor for a prescription for Ambien, a two week supply, you go through said supply in one week and it’s back to square one, another Doctor for another prescription. Plus there’s an element of acting involved, you need to be pushy but not too pushy. The cat is already out of the bag the minute you walk in to the surgery “This guy’s after more Ambien” the Doctors thinking and rightly so. Another horror involved is creating aliases, phony addresses, false date of births and then trying to remember which one corresponds to the Doctor you’re visiting. I fucked up yesterday and gave the wrong date of birth, the receptionist got suspicious but somehow I talked my way into a Consultation. Never again, I’m calling time on the horrors of Doctor shopping, from now on my prescription will last as long as it should come hell or high water.