thehusk

I’m so tired. And even when I do sleep, it doesn’t help. I just don’t want to try anymore. There’s nothing left in the tank. There’s no hope for anything. No real motivation. Just try and delay things getting much worse.

I want to stop, but not enough to overcome my fears and end it. I’m so full of hatred and negativity, and I don’t know how to stop feeling this way. I’m angry at reality, which is so fucking pointless, but again, I don’t know how to stop. To let go of this expectation that things should be ok.

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So, assuming the main reason I haven’t killed myself yet is fear, fear of what? The experience of dying for a start. Presumably I’d fall unconscious fairly quickly with what I have in mind. Perhaps feeling a bit lightheaded or nauseous beforehand. But what if there’s a surge of panic when I feel it kicking in? What if I reflexively abort it halfway through, and end up with permanent brain damage?

Supposing I do get to the point where I lose consciousness, and my brain cells start dying off…what’s that like? Is it actually like anything? Is there a sudden flood of activity as parts of the brain realise that the oxygen supply has been turned off? Is there terror? Desperation? Regret? Does your life flash before your eyes in painful detail? Does every second start to feel like a tortuous eternity?

And when the brain’s finally dead, and all activity has ceased, is that really it? No more pain, no more thought, no awareness? That’s what I assume, but what if my thinking is skewed? What if there really is some continuous part of the self that exists independent of the physical body, as most people have claimed throughout history? I fear that. I fear being confronted with what I’ve done in life. I fear judgement, shame, punishment, torment. I fear having to exist with the awareness of what I’ve done, in a state of eternal regret and isolation. Of course, I see no logical reason to believe in any of that. But what if I’m wrong?

Then there’s the attachments I have to this world. I fear letting go of my impossible hopes and dreams. Finally admitting reality…that there will be no happy ending. Facing the full hopelessness of my existence. That in itself is terrifying.

And I fear the effects on those I’d leave behind, who I’ve wronged so much already. Having to deal with my loss, when they’ve invested so much in me. I fear the devastation that would cause them. I can’t see them recovering. I fear being the one to do that to them, to cast that shadow over their lives. To pass on my hopelessness and despair to them.

So the question I’m left with is, to what extent should I let those fears dictate my actions? It seems like up to a point, delaying killing myself might be a sensible response. But when some threat of greater hardship inevitably arises, I should probably take the plunge. Being made homeless, or my past finally catching up with me. Serious illness, or disability. As soon as something like that appears, I should probably check out. Though it’s an open question as to whether I’ll be able to, when the time comes. I should probably prepare, so that I’m as ready as I can be.

But in the mean time…I have no idea how to go on living. I have nothing to live for. I’ve ruined my life beyond all repair. I’m just living to delay death. I feel so incredibly tired. Motivation to do anything is so hard. Nothing feels worthwhile. I’m running on fear, and nothing else. And this is as good as it gets. There’s nothing to hope for, no good outcome to fight for. There’s no happy ending, it will never be ok, and it will get worse over time. That sounds absurdly pessimistic, but I think it’s actually accurate. I just want it all to stop. But I can’t stop. To stop is effectively to die. And death still terrifies me.

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I keep causing myself misery. I don’t know how to stop. I want the wrong things. Rationally I know it’s no good for anyone. It’s not going to happen. Move on, try to make the best of a bad situation. But I keep getting reminders. And part of my mind craves those triggers. To feel that surge of meaning and desire again – to know clearly, if only for a moment ‘this is what I want. This matters. This is all there really is in this world.’

But then the contradiction hits – it’s wrong, reprehensible, terrible. Nothing good can come of it. It’s gone, too late. It never was, and it never will be. And that hurts so fucking much. When the only thing that feels truly meaningful and good is also terrible and hopeless. That right there is a recipe for despair.

And yet apparently that isn’t enough to push me to take the leap and do this world a favour. So I’ve trapped myself in this endless loop, where I spend half the time longing over something I can’t have, and the other half pondering why I don’t just end it already. Good job brain. Top marks for self sabotage. You win. You are the biggest loser.

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It seems to me that conflicting motivation is the source of my continued suffering. I both wish to annihilate myself, and to preserve myself. To put an end to my misery, but also to continue to pursue unrealistic life goals. To avoid all human contact, whilst also seeking connection and intimacy. Although these motivations fluctuate with mood and circumstance, over time none seems strong enough to win out over the others.

From this perspective, I’m trapped within a complex web of competing desires and impulses, stuck in a state of inertia finely balanced between. I want an end enough for it to be on my mind much of the time, but apparently not enough to actually face death. I want to find fulfilment in this life, but not enough to make the necessary sacrifices or expose myself to risk of greater suffering. A likely consequence seems to be that I’ll suffer unnecessarily by continuing to live, without achieving anything meaningful while doing so. Kind of the worst of both worlds, if you will.

So the problem is fundamentally with my motivation – my wants, drives, desires, cravings, impulses. I want the wrong things. I don’t know if there’s any way out of that impasse, other than the balance eventually shifting on it’s own. I can’t see any way to change what you want intentionally. To do so, surely you’d already need the motivation beforehand, to want one thing more strongly than the others? While wants and desires seem open to change over time, I can’t see any way to consciously control that process. Intentional action seems to require motivation to precede it.

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Why am I still here? I’m not sure. I’m scared of death. Scared of the experience of dying. Scared of my consciousness somehow continuing beyond. Scared of making the wrong choice. Scared of giving up on the possibilities of life. And I don’t want to devastate my family.

But I also don’t want this life anymore. I don’t want to be me. I don’t want my past, my mind, my emotions, my body. What I am should not exist.

Decisions were made, and continue to be made, and it all adds up to where I am now. The problem is me. The faults are mine. But there’s no fixing it. And the mess I’ve made of my life feels unbearable. I hate myself, I hate the world, I hate reality in general. I’m a horrible, hateful person. And it hurts. And I deserve that pain. But I can’t stand it. The sheer loneliness, the lack of hope, the gnawing fear.

If it can’t be fixed, if there’s no peace, then surely better to cease? But I seemingly lack the necessary conviction to take that leap in the dark.

A shot of clarity would be nice. To see the whole thing unobstructed, to know the truth. A little divine revelation. Or just for the fear to leave long enough for me to make a decision.

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So I took a ‘Big 5’ Personality assessment, and the results were predictably dire. Of particular interest were my scores on Neuroticism, Extraversion, and Conscientiousness. Kinda seems like I’m predisposed to be a complete basket case at this point. Wondering if anyone else has ever done one of these kind of tests? They appear to be the most creditable in terms of psychological backing, but the idea seems to be that mostly those traits remain relatively constant no matter what you do. Which would leave me kind of fucked…

Some selected highlights:

Neuroticism = 99% (Anxiety 99%, Depression 99%,  Self-consciousness 97%, Vulnerability 99%, Anger 90%, Craving 94%)

Extraversion = 1% (Friendliness 1%, Sociability 1%, Cheerfulness 6% , Assertiveness 7%)

Conscientiousness = 5% (Self-discipline 8%, Dutifulness 1%, Motivation 1%, Cautiousness 76%)

Agreeableness = 38% (Trust 7%, Altruism 3%, Morality 22%, Sympathy 69%,  Cooperation 66%, Modesty 94%)

Openness = 56% (Emotionality 82%, Imagination 75%, Intellect 61%, Liberalism 79%, Adventurousness 3%)

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This isn’t about suicide, except in concerning the kind of stupid thing that often contributes to feeling I want out.

My aunt is coming to stay in a couple of weeks, and I’m dreading it. I haven’t seen her in nearly 10 years. I’ve avoided every opportunity, every occasion. I skipped the weddings of my cousins, the birth of their children. The last time I saw her was my grandmothers funeral. It’s been over 7 years since I saw anyone from my extended family. I’ve tried to ignore their existence as much as I can. But in two weeks, she’s coming.

The thing about it is, she’s an entirely nice, decent, well-meaning person. They all are. It’s not them I’m dreading. It’s being me while talking to them. It’s having to acknowledge what a worthless loser I am to another person.

I can do it fine in the abstract – yes, I am a garbage person. Yes, I am both sad and pathetic. Yes, I’ve wasted all the advantages given to me, along with the last 12 years of my life. It’s depressing, but I can just about live with it.

But when it comes to letting others in on the fact, and the awkwardness & embarrassment that ensue…it just fucking kills me. I don’t know how to cope with it.

Now I know this is an irrational reaction. It will likely have zero bearing on my future prospects. There’s unlikely to be any negative outcome that can result from them seeing what a useless void of a person I’ve become. No insults will be thrown. It’s unlikely they’ll even criticise. It’ll just be awkward as fuck.

But still, I don’t know how to handle it. I guess I’m hyper sensitive to what others think of me. The shame of it just makes me want to self-immolate. I have an extremely low tolerance for embarrassment or awkwardness of any kind.

I’m dreading the small-talk. ”So, what have you been up to?” ”Literally nothing. I worked a shitty dead end job for 4 years, then quit and spent most of my days lying in a depressed haze for 3 years.” ”So, what are your plans?” ”Well, I’m thinking suicide may be inevitable at some point, but other than that I have no clue.”

I could arrange to be out of town when they come, but that might involve more stress than being here. I can’t really think of a legit excuse for not being around. I even considered joining the climate protests in London for a week, (which would have sent my anxiety off the wall) but it seems like they’ve packed up for the time being.

Without a good excuse of somewhere else to be, I think my Mum would probably be upset if I wasn’t here. And my aunt might take it as a slight (if she knows I’m normally here.) I don’t want to offend or upset anyone. I just really don’t want to be here when they visit. I don’t want to experience that awkwardness. I don’t want to be seen as the pathetic waste of space that I am. I don’t want them to see what I’ve become.

This sense of dread has been gnawing away at me ever since I heard she was coming. Gotta find some way out. I know it’s ridiculous, but I just can’t face it.

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Sorry to be posting again, but I really feel like I need to figure something out soon. I’m completely paralysed by indecision, and I don’t think I can go on like this much longer.

I have no idea how to choose, how to make decisions, how to act, when I have so much conflicting stuff going through my head. I want so many different, contradictory things at different points in the day, and it’s driving me insane. I don’t know what to do. I want to erase myself from existence, but I’m terrified of facing death. I want to end my suffering, but I also want to pursue fulfilment in this life. I want to be a better person, but I also want to pursue my desires, which might involve unfairly involving others in my dysfunction. I want to close myself off from the world, but I also desperately want to be known. I want to avoid the risk of extreme suffering in this life, but I’m terrified of facing worse beyond death.

How do you make decisions, without consistent values or beliefs? When your ‘heart’ wants one thing at one point in the day and the exact opposite at a later point? When your ‘gut’ warns you of conflicting dangers and threats? When it all feels equally vital and important and necessary?

I need some basis to make a decision, to act. I don’t believe in a religion, or creed, or anything much. I’d quite like to experience less suffering, but I don’t know whether that means I should be ending my life, or avoiding pursuit of certain desires. But I need some way of deciding.

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I seem to be posting a lot lately (sorry.) Every now and then I get a clear reflection of who I really am, and it’s hard to cope with. I am a bad person. Even when compared to other obviously bad people, I’m unacceptable. I wouldn’t quite say I’m the lowest of the low, but I’m damn close.

Now of course there’s always little things anyone can do to improve themselves. But I’m so far behind, morally and socially, that it seems like no matter how much I try, the best I could hope for would be toleration and pity. I mean if I really work at it, I could be the lonely guy who everyone keeps at a distance but still try to be kind to. The one who you invite to the odd social occasion secretly hoping he won’t come. He makes you a bit uncomfortable, but it seems like he’s trying hard, bless him.

It’s hard to summon up much motivation to strive for that. Maybe it’s pride, or narcissism, or stubbornness. Like I’m above that kind of existence (when really I’m so far below it.) But I think perhaps I’d rather stay beyond the pale, out in the wilderness, than be tolerated and pitied as some broken thing.

I want to say ”Fuck You! You think you’re better than me?” Of course, odds are that you are better than me. I’m in the bottom 1%, morality wise. Statistically speaking, you’re probably in a position to fairly view me with disgust.

But when there’s no way to make up the debt, or wipe the slate clean, or return to an even playing field, it’s hard to accept that gulf. That you’ll never be truly worthwhile or acceptable.

I don’t want to be the broken thing that you look at, with pity or disgust. I don’t want to be the example of what not to do, and how not to live. I don’t want to have my inferiority constantly reflected back at me.

If I can’t be on a par, if I can’t be worthy or truly accepted as part of the tribe, then I think I’d rather cease being altogether.

I don’t want to feel angry with you for being better than me, for being in a position to judge me, though anger and resentment flow easily enough. I’m no Cain. No petulant shooting spree for me. The fault lies with me, not you. I mean, I could trace my flaws back to my biology, and the effects of a somewhat hostile environment. But that wouldn’t be your fault, would it? You were just better placed to succeed at this game we call life. To become a decent and worthwhile person.

Good for you. I wish you well (or at least I try to, when I’m not imagining you being atomised by some global apocalypse.) To the victor go the spoils. Congrats. Not bitter, honest. But I think I’d rather not be here to see it. Limping on alone, while you live your meaningful lives.

I wish I could just stop…but I can’t seem to bring myself to.

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I have these ideas in my mind of what my life should’ve been. Every day I get these little reminders, and it totally throws me. Just remembering that these things are still out there. Even though it’s not possible for me now. It cuts through the fog of my day to day struggle, and tells me ‘Look, remember this! It was real! This is what your life should’ve been! This is what would make life worthwhile!’. And then I remember why it’s no longer possible for me. Maybe it never was. And I don’t know what to do with that feeling.

I’m emotionally trapped in the past. And it hurts. The meanings I’ve attached to things…are causing me pain. And I don’t know how to stop that. Because there’s nothing else left for me. There’s no future. No relationships, no kids, no career, nothing I feel really passionate about. The only things that seem meaningful are in the past, lost.

All I’m really doing is running down the clock, trying to reduce the amount I suffer and avoid hurting anyone else too badly while I do it. But my emotions won’t adjust to that reality. I’m still hung up on things that I missed in childhood, and things that aren’t possible for me now.

I want to numb it all away. But I also don’t. Because I want something to feel meaningful, and important, and vital. I’m stuck in this cycle of pointless suffering.

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This life isn’t something that should be, surely. The chronic background of fear, guilt, shame, regret, despair, numbed by addictive hedonism. Better not to be. Nothing good can come of it. If anyone should kill themselves, it’s me. So why am I still here?

Maybe I fear cosmic justice catching up to me beyond the grave. Being left alone to face all that fear and despair with no means to push it down any longer. If I could somehow be certain that it was the end, then perhaps it would seem more appealing, and less like an existential leap in the dark.

Or it could be that I can’t bring myself to do it to my family. They’ve invested so much in me, and they don’t deserve to have my despair dropped on to them. Thinking about what it would do to my mum especially…it just seems unjustifiable. If there was some way to make them understand, to make sure they’d be ok, that they’d just forget me, then it might be something I could do in good conscience.

Perhaps it’s just dumb survival instinct, in which case I wonder whether I can bring myself to overcome it, even if things became agonisingly painful. Or maybe it’s attachment to being, to this self and it’s experiences – my memories, desires, cravings, addictions.

I want it to end, but it doesn’t seem like I’m prepared to do what’s necessary. I don’t know whether that’s a good choice or not, or even why I’m really making it day after day.

I wonder how many times I’ve written copies of this sentiment over the last 5 years. I’ve been stuck in this holding pattern for so long now – without hope or purpose or any resolution in sight. I just keep on in my misery…because I don’t know what else to do.

I’m fairly sure this isn’t hell…it’s not excruciating enough. Much of the time I’m able to push it all down and focus on the small meaningless distractions that pass in front of me. But there’s no hope here. There’s no way out. There’s no overcoming. There’s no escape. No peace. How do I sleep at night? Poorly, that’s how.

I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe it never will. But it’s in my head, the awareness of what I’ve done and what I am. It’s always there, in the background, casting a shadow over everything.

Possibly the outskirts of hell. The suburbs? Trapped on a train moving at snail’s pace toward the centre. Everything could almost be fine, it’s not too uncomfortable, there’s still some nice views out of the window. But there is most definitely no way out. And in the distance some terrible shapes begin to emerge…

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I don’t know how to deal with all the conflicting stuff that goes through my head. So many competing contradictory priorities and impulses, all seeming vitally important in some way. I don’t know which direction to go. People always say ‘listen to your heart’. But my ‘heart’ tells me very different things from moment to moment, and I suspect it may not be a reliable guide.

Much of the time I think it would be for the best to end it, as quickly and painlessly as possible. End any chance of greater suffering. But then that would negate all my other conflicting impulses. And I have no idea how much weight to give any one priority.

How do you end your suffering whilst also being there to protect your loved ones? How do you pursue happiness and connection whilst shielding yourself from the pain of despair? How do you preserve the world whilst also wanting to bring it to an end. How do you pursue hedonism whilst living morally righteously?

I wish I could be just one thing. There’s too much in my head, and it’s tearing me apart. I’m pulled in every direction, and I end up going nowhere.

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I spend so much time wondering whether I should be ending it. No matter how many times I resolve to keep going until something changes, I keep on reverting back to asking myself why.

I think it’s that I don’t know how to accept and live with the reality I’ve created for myself. I don’t know how to be this person. There’s no real meaning to it for me. I’ve made any kind of connection with anyone impossible for myself. I’ve robbed myself of stakes. Nothing matters. Nothing is worth suffering for. Nothing makes it worth enduring the little things that torment me daily.

But what’s the rush? Things aren’t that bad. My discomfort isn’t agonizing. I’m able bodied. I can still absorb myself in distractions from time to time. Would it really be rational to end it now, when I still have some road ahead of me?

I do fear the choice being taken from me – an accident, or a violent act, leaving me disabled, unable to finish it. Unlikely, but it does happen. I have particular personal reasons to fear losing my freedom which I won’t go into. Things could get very bad indeed. But not likely, at the moment. Wise to be prepared to end it, but maybe not rational to go now.

But the thing is, I don’t want to live with this reality anymore. I don’t want to have to face it every day. I don’t want to have to make the effort. There’s nothing real here for me. There’s no goal, no purpose. Just keep on surviving until my parents are dead and I can off myself without feeling too bad about it.

It’s childish I know, but I just can’t bring myself to face this life. Putting myself through all that, for just…nothing.

I’m sure I can make a convincing case for myself that this world would be better off without me in it, which would offset any harm caused to family.

So…why aren’t I ending it? Why aren’t I at least making preparations? Perhaps I don’t really believe my judgement about my life’s meaninglessness. I cling to small moments of positive experience, as if they somehow justify the sea of emptiness and negativity. Can’t let go of those small moments. Can’t let go of being this person. Despite also hating being this person.

Can’t let go of memories. I think I was happy once, back when I was a child. I have the pictures, and I look happy, rather than the pained fake happy I sometimes affect now. Whatever happiness was. Lack of constant self-awareness perhaps.

Can’t let go of possibilities. Seemingly impossible possibilities. But while existence persists, so does possibility.

Really can’t bring myself to do that to my family, even if it was the right thing overall. Thinking about my parents having to deal with it…feels like such a shitty thing to do, after all they’ve done for me. But hey, I won’t be here to see it, so…no biggie?

I’m so incredibly, insanely lost. I do believe that there are some existences to which death would genuinely be preferable. I’m just not sure whether this is one of them. A lot of people would’ve offed themselves long ago in my circumstances, from the shame of it alone. But that would require a stronger sense of social morality than the one I possess.

I just keep getting this overwhelming feeling of not wanting to face this reality anymore. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be this. I want out. And there’s no hope of anything changing. This is as good as it gets. It’s all downhill from here. I just keep asking myself why. Why bother? What am I doing here? Just running down the clock, waiting for something truly awful to push me over the edge. I don’t know how to do it. There’s no meaning to it. What my motivation in this scene? Line?!

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On the one hand, want not to exist. Want not to have the experience of being ‘me’. No more regret, no more despair, no more isolation, self-hatred, guilt or shame. For all the wrongness just to be over. No more. Just emptiness instead. And I should do it. I should not exist. What I am should not be.

On the other hand…fear? Fear of? What if it’s not the end? I fear judgement, punishment, torment and eternal regret.

It’s hard for me to believe that this world has a creator capable of sitting in moral judgement. The amount of pointless suffering that takes place in the animal kingdom alone seems to suggest that ethics were not of great concern. Nature is red in both tooth and claw. The inference would be that human experience is irrelevant to any creative power, and that our consciousnesses simply dissipate when our lives end. No pearly gates, no paradise, no eternal damnation. God, if he exists, does not much care for our individual existences.

But what if I’m wrong? How could I ever have enough confidence in my doubts to follow them to their logical conclusion? How can I tell if my rationality is sound, my reasoning unbiased, my perception clear? Could I ever take that leap into the dark, even in utter desperation? The problem of being raised in a theistic culture is that it’s drilled into the spine of your worldview. No matter how little sense it makes to you, it still has a grip.

So I cling on, hoping that at some point things will become clearer. Either that some benevolent purpose to all this suffering will be revealed to my monkey mind, or that my fears of a worse existence beyond are somehow put to rest, and I can finally let go of being.

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I’ve been trying again to pin down what exactly it is I’m still doing here. As usual I’m failing to find a clear answer. By any standard morality, I would’ve been dead long ago. Any halfway decent person would’ve committed seppuku immediately in my situation. But of course if I were halfway decent, I wouldn’t be in this situation. Clearly, conventional morality doesn’t have a strong enough pull on my mind to motivate me to do ‘the right thing’. I feel shame, I feel guilt, I know that there’s a deep wrongness in me. But that’s apparently just not enough.

I don’t want to hurt my parents. They’re genuinely good people, and so invested in me. Perhaps too invested. When I think about them getting the news, or having to ID the body, or just having to live with it, day after day, for the rest of their lives…I couldn’t do that to them, could I? It feels like the ultimate dick move, after everything else I’ve put them through, and all they’ve done for me.

I’m not attractive, confident, or care-free enough to enjoy a life of meaningless hedonism. My existence is anxious and uncomfortable. I’m not at ease in my own skin, both metaphorically and literally. Nausea overwhelms me every time I leave the house. Dorian Gray I ain’t.

There are times I feel this world of ours could be so good. If only it weren’t for shitheads like me, screwing it up for everybody. Perhaps suicide would be the selfless thing. Or perhaps I should do something to help. If only I wasn’t so useless. I mean, the other 7 billion of you seem to be doing mostly fuck all, and most of you have something to live for – friends, partners, children, careers, plans. How the fuck is a useless prick like me going to make any difference whatsoever, with none of that? Activism requires people skills! How do you persuade people that life on this planet is worth saving when you doubt your own life is worth living?

But it would be a shame, if right on the brink of having the technology to make our existence so much better, we used our existing technology to burn our civilization to the ground. Just a thought.

At least the genuine psychopaths love themselves unconditionally. I have to live with the knowledge of who and what I am, both loathing and loving it. Won’t someone please think of the assholes? We have feelings too (mostly rage and self-disgust, but still!)

If only we could know, clearly, what this world is. What happens when we die. Why we are the way we are. If we knew there’d be no punishment, that there was no one watching. Although perhaps that might lead to a moral decline in society. So just me. If only I could know, personally. If only I could be sure.

That’s the thing about a guilty conscience – you’re always anticipating someone finding out, somehow. Awaiting judgement. If not in this life, then after death. The thought that you’d just get away with it – it’s just not acceptable somehow. How could something so awful not have any deeper meaning? Unfortunately, for some things no punishment would ever be enough.

If there is a God, a personal message would be nice. Just to make it clear. The ancient scriptures seems somewhat lacking in consistency and credibility. Almost like they were contrived to justify the interests of those who wrote them.

Would it really be too much to ask to get a clarification on whether eternal damnation is on the cards, and what actions would be sufficient to avoid such a fate? Are all the angels so rushed off their wings that they can’t spare a minute to drop by and spell it out? Do I really have to put all my faith in ancient schizophrenic middle eastern nomads?

I think I’ve put myself beyond any real human connection. If that’s the only meaning to be found in a Godless world, then where does that leave me? Do I keep banging my head against the impossible, just for the sake of it? All you need is love, but what if you’ve made that impossible for yourself? What then? What if you’re one of the lonely people? How do you know when you’re better off giving up the ghost, and saving yourself additional pain? If I could just know…

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Day after day, I return to the recognition that I don’t know how to live with myself. With my reality. With the awareness of what I’ve done, and what I am. There is no honorable life for me. The closest I could get seems unbearable, and I lack the conviction for it (I cannot explain). I think I would rather die than follow that intolerable path – it seems easier.

There would be little honor in my death either. But it’s still probably what I should do. And yet I don’t. I ask myself why, and what comes back is fear. Why fear? Because I lack the conviction that it will truly be the end? Because I fear that my essence will somehow persist, trapped in a state of torment, regret, and isolation? Is it that I fear making a mistake over the largest, final decision that one can make? Or is all that just rationalization, masking pure unthinking survival instinct? Regardless, I think I lack the conviction necessary to overcome such fear.

Which leaves me stuck here, with nothing to make the suffering and struggle of life seem worthwhile. I’ve made it impossible to form any kind of real connection, with anyone – any kind of relationship based on truth – because of who I am, and what I’ve done. I am utterly alone, even if surrounded by those who care about me. I am morally, psychologically, emotionally alone. Existentially alone. I cannot explain. And yet still I crave for connection, for what I’ve made impossible.

I long to feel some greater meaning in my life, beyond just the fear of death. But it is hard to see one, when all that lies before me is isolation. No partner, no children, no real friends, no connection, no community acceptance. No noble calling seems sufficient to fill the gap. There can be no integrity to anything I do anyway. Even continuing to live is a form of deception.

At times I feel that I want to do something towards preserving this world of ours. But it’s so hard to retain motivation, when you know that anything that you do achieve will be for the fulfillment of others, which you yourself can never experience. When you’re hopelessly broken yourself it’s hard to maintain meaning in the thought of helping others who are whole. But I want to invest meaning in something, and if it’s not possible for my own life then I suppose it has to be in the well-being of others. It’s just difficult to feel enough motivation to do anything remotely productive. Most of the time I’d rather try and just numb it all away. I don’t know.

I suppose it makes sense to try and make whatever peace I can with my complete isolation, and with my fear. With how bad things are, and how much worse they could get. I just don’t really know how. There’s few guides for what to do when you’ve sunk as low as I have. Suicide or confession seem about all that’s on the table, and I lack the conviction for either. Beyond seeking whatever palliative distractions I can in this world, I suppose all that’s left is to hope that I’ll be granted peace, or the gift of non-existence, when death does finally come. An eternity of torment, isolation and regret is hard to come to terms with.

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Desire is a problem. Wanting things that are most likely not possible. And the mind keeps nagging away at you, reminding you, ‘Hey, remember that thing that’s really important? You should go and find it, right now.’ And then you remember all the reasons why it’s not going to work out that way. And you have that moment of despair, where you realize the only thing that seems meaningful in the world is beyond your grasp, and there’s no point you even existing. But apparently you lack conviction in that assessment, so you try to push down the feeling and go about your day. But 5 minutes later it’s back at the surface, and you have to go  through the whole process again.

I should’ve let go of such desires long ago, and adjusted to the reality, to make the best of things as they are. But no matter how much pointless suffering I cause myself, a major part of me doesn’t want to let go. It wants to keep pedantically clinging to it’s delusional, unrealistic expectations. Because anything less seems meaningless. And without meaning, what’s the point?

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It’s ridiculous how much of every day I spend feeling like this. Every few minutes a reminder of how unsatisfactory and unacceptable my life is. How completely screwed I am. That there’s no hope for me. And yet still, apparently, I just don’t want out bad enough. You’d think I would have numbed myself to all of life’s disappointments by now. But I guess I’m too attached to my own suffering to let go. Constantly subconsciously scanning for reminders of what I want but can’t have. The problem is me – my brain, my self, my personality. I do this to myself, because I don’t know how to stop.

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I think I need some outside input on this. My own feelings fluctuate all over the place.

I’m trying to weigh up whether suicide is the wisest choice for me, as things stand right now. Whether it would be more rational than continuing to live. Whether it would be in my best interests, all things considered. I’ll start by trying to clarify my present state, compared to conditions where I’m fully convinced it would be better to end it.

For starters, I don’t have cancer, or some other terminal disease, or a degenerative condition like dementia. I’m not severely disabled, and I’m not in agonizing pain. I wouldn’t say I was healthy, and I have a number of low-level physical discomforts (IBS, skin problems, insomnia etc.) But I’m in better shape than many. I have any number of physical flaws and defects, but I wouldn’t say I’m hideously disfigured or anything.

I’m not homeless, though I am still living with parents long past the age where that’s socially acceptable. I have some savings, a little work experience, and some education, though I’m long-term unemployed, and my CV is pretty pathetic. I’m a long way from financial independence, but I don’t live through grinding poverty by any means.

I’m not in prison, I don’t have a criminal record, and no one is pursuing me with threats of violence. I do have an awful past that could potentially catch up with me at some point to terrible effect, but that seems unlikely in the near future, given the current allocation of policing resources.

I have a supportive, understanding, and loving family. Though they’ve been hurt and distressed by my endless failures, I know that my death would be completely devastating for them. I feel an obligation not to do that to them, not to ruin what in many respects seem content and meaningful lives, though I don’t know if that’s enough on it’s own to keep going. My sister just got engaged. She seems really happy. The idea of casting a shadow over the wedding doesn’t feel too good.

I spend much of my time consumed by longing, loneliness, regret, shame, guilt, fear, self-disgust, and despair. These burdens weigh on me considerably. I don’t know if I’d say they’re unbearable, but I don’t know how to live with them. I think I’ve irreversibly cut myself off from any human connection, by the ways in which I’ve lived, and the person I’ve become. There’s things I don’t think I can change about myself that no person should accept. I long to go back, and do it all differently, but of course you can’t. Now I don’t think I can ever let anyone in, or be myself around anyone. Involving myself with anyone feels wrong, like a deception. I don’t think I’m capable of any degree of intimacy. Like I’m always going to be utterly alone, even when with people. I’m morally, socially, and personally inferior. Much of the time I struggle to see any meaning in my life. I can’t see how I could ever invest it with enough purpose to make it seem worthwhile. I feel I’ve robbed my relationships of the possibility of any deeper meaning. But that could all be overly pessimistic.

I’m still capable of enjoying distractions, hedonistic pleasures and aesthetic pursuits, at least some of the time. But the older I get, the more hollow it all rings, unanchored from any sense of deeper meaning.

I don’t know how to weigh all of this. My life is often unpleasant at the moment, but I don’t know if I’d call it appalling, or if it’s sufficiently bad to overcome the obligations I feel to family. I don’t know if I’d be justified in ending it – whether the costs to family would be offset by my current burdens. Those burdens feel considerable, formidable even, but I don’t know if they’re sufficiently severe, or overwhelming, or unacceptable.

I’m not even sure if death’s the best thing for me, just from a selfish point of view. I don’t know what the wise choice is here. Whether my current existence is truly unbearable, whether my quality of life is so poor that it’s not worth continuing. I don’t know what the reasonable response to all this is. No one ever talks about when it’s best to end it, and when you should go on, and how to tell the difference.

If I had a terminal disease, or debilitating pain, or was facing imminent imprisonment, violence, or homelessness, I feel it would be clearer cut. But where I am now, I really don’t know. Any considered input would be appreciated. I feel like if I could just make a decision one way or the other, and feel confident in it, it might ease some of the burden.

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I’m still stuck in the same old loops. It seems that I’m too afraid of death to end it. The rationalization for that is my lack of certainty that death is truly the end. I fear my consciousness somehow persisting, trapped in a state of regret, despair, and torment. I don’t believe in a soul, rationally speaking. But my emotions seem to think otherwise. I lack conviction in my materialist atheism.

Of course I’ll have to take that leap at some point, but I suppose I want to put it off for as long as I can. The idea being that perhaps there’s things that I could do in the remainder of my life to reduce the regret or torment that I might feel afterwards, and reach a state of greater fulfillment and peace. Which often seems completely delusional, trapped as I am in my dysfunctional cycles. But I suppose I also lack conviction that there’s nothing that I can do to change things. My hope isn’t sufficiently dead yet.

But that leaves me here, trying to work out what I should do in an attempt to find greater fulfillment and peace before death. And I don’t have any faith in any kind of redemption narrative to follow. I’m not prepared to expose myself to any great suffering in this world in the hopes of some salvation after death. If things get bad enough here, I’d still rather take the risk of death. Things just aren’t bad enough, yet.

I feel I should do something to try and find fulfillment, happiness, love. That I have to somehow change myself, to make myself worthy of it. But I also don’t believe that there’s anything that I could do that would suffice. No matter what I do from this point, I will always be a terrible person, contaminated by the evil inside me. I will never be able to let anyone see the truth without them being repulsed & disgusted.

I feel that I should be seeking out a real connection with someone – an emotionally honest relationship. I want that. I want someone I can be real with. But I’m also terrified of getting involved with anyone.

The thought of telling someone the truth seems like an unacceptable risk. I can’t see anyone reacting with anything other than justified shock, anger, & disgust. And if they told anyone, as they might feel morally compelled to, the consequences could be truly devastating. I don’t think I could ever bring myself to take that risk.

But the idea of allowing someone to get close to me without telling them the truth also seems wrong. The thought of deceiving someone I care about so fundamentally feels unacceptable. And it’s not what I want. I want someone to really know me – to care for me. Not some deception I’ve constructed. I want emotional closeness.

I have no idea how to resolve this fundamental conflict, of feeling that I should be pursuing connection and an emotionally honest relationship, but also that it’s impossible, and that the risk of letting anyone close see the truth of me is not something I can tolerate.

I’ve been stuck with this going round and around my head for years. I don’t know how to move forward. I don’t feel I can tell anyone close to me the truth. I don’t think I want to deceive anyone into loving me and live a lie. And yet I feel somehow I must find some way to love and deep connection. That I should be doing something to make it possible. I have no idea…

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