whiskered-fish

I’m thinking about attempting today. I know it probably seems spontaneous, but it really isn’t. Not really, anyway.

I’m a little worried though. The only means I have is a rope and my doorknob. I don’t know if I’ll do it properly, and I really don’t want brain damage. I guess that’s a risk I’ll just have to take.

Then again, I kind of want to go to church one more time before I go. Maybe I should wait till Monday. I don’t know. I don’t know.

I think I’m one of the very few people who has a significant religious motivation for killing themselves. I can’t find any resources for this issue.

Usually when religious people decide to off themselves, it’s in spite of, not because of, their beliefs. So religious resources aren’t really equipped to help me.

And seeking help from nonreligious people— whose empathy centers seem to completely shut down whenever they encounter someone like me (a number of y’all come to mind) and whose only solution to the problem seems to be deconverting me, which won’t help— never works out either. 

What I’m trying to say is: I feel really alone. Alone, […]

People have a bottomless capacity for cruelty. There aren’t any good or safe people, only bad, unsafe ones who haven’t hurt you yet. Being dead has to be better than this.

These on-and-off episodes of violent paranoia are going to fucking end me.

I’m starting to realize that I can’t trust anyone around me. No one is safe. Everyone in my life is here to torture me, whether they’re aware of it or not.

I’m stewing in confusion, terror, hate. I’ve been having unshakable, violent urges for weeks. I just want everyone who’s hurting me to disappear.

Today the urges are stronger than they’ve ever been. I feel like a time bomb. But unlike last year, there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t have health insurance anymore. I’m in school now, and wouldn’t be able to come back if I left. I can’t go to the hospital again, […]

Any society that says it’s ethical and merciful to abort a child to spare it a miserable and painful life, but that won’t allow already-born people who are living miserable, painful lives to safely and peacefully choose to die, is morally inconsistent and cruel. Anyone who supports one but not the other is a hypocrite and a torturer.

And no, this isn’t an anti-abortion post. This is a pro-suicide post. Let me fucking die. 

My illnesses aren’t illnesses at all, they’re curses. I’m cursed. That’s why the medicine never works. Medicine can’t heal someone who isn’t sick. I’ll never be healed.

What’s the point in living when I seem to be physically incapable of forming anything deeper than a surface-level connection with anyone? 

I’ve been withdrawing a lot lately. But can you really blame me? After so much social failure, there comes a point where you just stop trying. 

Right now, my head is being flooded with horrible memories of all of the times I’ve had psychotic episodes in front of people. In front of my parents, my siblings, my friends, my classmates. The humiliation of it is crushing me. I just want to forget.

It’s times like this where I can’t help but wonder, what’s the point in living if I can’t do so with dignity? If I’m just going to spend the rest of my life like this, constantly humiliating myself in front of everyone I know, then why not just die?

My God is laughing at me and telling me to hang myself. I’ve been pacing on and off for two or three hours and the rope is still on my mind. It won’t leave.

Today I learned that my psychiatrist diagnosed me with schizophrenia last month. He didn’t even tell me. I found out this morning, through my therapist.

I want to get a second opinion, because doctors aren’t infallible, and I’ve been misdiagnosed before. But if the diagnosis really is accurate, then I guess y’all can serve me a big fat pie of “I told you so.”

I can’t think of anything that I’d enjoy doing with my life.

I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to college. I don’t know what I should go to school for, or what career path to choose. People ask me “well, what do you want to do? What do you enjoy?”

And the answer is: nothing. I can’t think of a single thing that I enjoy doing, besides eating and sleeping, maybe. I don’t enjoy things or find anything interesting anymore. So what am I supposed to do?

At this point, I really should just be euthanized.

I hate knowing that even after I’m dead, people are still going to carry around memories of me.

I wish there was some big red button I could press to wipe my memory from everyone’s mind. I don’t just want to die, I want to be completely erased.

I’m an island drifting further and further away to an unreachable place.

I’m at the bottom of a dark well. A lot of my time is spent reaching, in the hopes that someone will grab my hand. Not to pull me up, but just to hold it for a little while.

Losing your mind isn’t something romantic or poetic or profound. It’s a humiliating, slow, and winding descent into Hell.

I wish I could meet someone who’d recognize how much I need to be euthanized, see how I’m too weak and scared to do it myself, and be kind enough to do it for me. An angel of mercy.

I originally wrote a rambling post about me and my God, and my prayers to Him, and the new method I have stashed under my bed. But then I erased it all.

Have a song instead.

The only good part of me is the part that wants death. I’m a horrible person, and wanting the world to have less horribleness in it is good. So the part of me that wants to remove me from the world is good, and the only good part of me that there is.

I can’t get rid of it. If I do, then there won’t be any good left. So I’m going to let it exist. I’m going to keep feeding it, letting it grow and grow until it wins out over my stubbornly persistent fear of death. And then I’ll die good.

There’s so much that I simply can’t handle. I can’t handle being confused or conflicted. I can’t handle any kind of change. I can’t handle being wrong, or hated. I can’t handle pain. I can’t handle the complexity of the world and the difficulty of living in it.

“Those are all just facts of life, Kat. They’re a part of living.”

Okay, well maybe some people weren’t meant for living. Maybe some people are just too weak to live, and won’t ever be strong enough.

It’s the psychological equivalent of being allergic to the sun or the air. Everything hurts, and everything is exhausting, all the […]