At this point, the glass isn’t half empty or half full, the glass is shattered and the pieces are embedded deep in my flesh. I have final “insurance” if you will, I’m just waiting for the right time to use it. I’ve practiced over and over. It’s not a matter of if I choose to make my exit, but when. And oddly enough, having a surefire “insurance” policy helps me through the bad moments, the mere knowledge that I can reliably end it when I choose to do so, when the time comes, is almost enough to bring me peace. I’m playing a sick game of seeing just how bad my life can get before I decide to finally pull the plug. How much torture can I endure? How far can everything crash and burn before I abandon ship? What sick and twisted surprise will Life throw at me next? What will be the last straw before Death takes me into her arms? I’ve come very close from natural causes several times the past year and a half, but through sheer bad luck have survived. I wish I hadn’t been taken to the hospital in my dying moments. Ever since the last incident especially, coming so close to death I could practically taste it, it all feels fake. I already peacefully accepted my demise, and for it to be turned around and taken away from me.. Felt wrong. By all means I SHOULD be dead. The past year has felt so fake. Like time I shouldn’t have. I wonder if I could have refused treatment. Why did people have to meddle with my last chance to die naturally? I feel like that was ripped away from me. The chance to die with some dignity and not by my own hand. Had I been untreated for one more day, I wouldn’t be rambling on like this, I wouldn’t be lamenting the missed opportunity to spare my loved ones the pain of my suicide. It would have been so much easier on them. I wish I could tell them how I feel, but I can’t. They wouldn’t understand and would hurt too much. I can’t tell anyone. So here I write the pathetic ramblings of a madman.
Do you ever feel like your head is just a place of storage of memories of all of the wrong you’ve made? I try to focus on the happy memories but my mind is in an eternal loop of all of the things I’ve fucked up. The people I’ve hurt. The shit I’ve done to my body. To my mind.
And I try to break the cycle and sometimes I can feel a little bit better but it’s just a few days and then I fall into the dark again. And my mind keeps making scenarios of my death and what it would be like. How would I feel the relief. But then again I’m scared of that too because it would be another fucked up thing to do to the ones I think love me. The ultimate wound. And so the nightmare begins again and I don’t know if it ever stops.
Today was a bad day. Symptoms are very bad. They get worse and not better. Crazy to think how even 1 month ago things weren’t as bad. 6 months ago the symptoms first started. At this rate, I’ll be dead in another 6 months. Begging for the hospital and my doctor to help me. Admit me to hospital and treat me properly. Still waiting for the neurologist to give me an appointment. I’m convinced they think I’m making it all up in my head. I wish I was. I want to make it through this illness and get better. I have so much to lose. I’m always the strong one. I don’t know how much longer I can keep it up. Please God, please heal me. I love you but this hurts. I’m afraid. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.
I’ve lost near all hope, yet idk what that entity is and why It keeps this flame alive. But when that time comes I’ll know I would be free to do anything without guilt and insecurities.
All i know is that this hope holds me here, chained, while oxygen feeds into my soul. The air feels thin. The weight feels heavier. The people.. those parasites. They refuse to understand that we are barbaric by Nature. Crule and capable of extreme physical and mental dangers to the living. Pretending that Light is bright enough to chase out the darkness. But in this world you cant have good without the bad. And Evil always triumphs. Always has always will. Leading the charge in defining the stain we will continue to leave behind.
Why am I this way? I wish I was handsome. I wish I had a nice smile but I’m ashamed of my smile. I have so few friends, there has to be something wrong with me. I wish I was the type of person to draw people towards me. I wish I accomplished something in my life so that I could have something, so that my daughter could have something. I wish I had a real family that really loved each other, unlike the weird, finite, or selfish love that is shown everywhere. I wish that I wasn’t a single dad. I wish I was somebody that was wanted. I wish that I was normal and didn’t think about this. I wish that if I left this world, I could come back as the person I wish I was and have the life I wished for. I hate who I am, I hate myself, I hate my life. I hate that I’m stupid and slow enough to wish for love. I hate that I want to be close to someone that loves me. I hate my feelings, I wish I could get rid of them for good without dying. Why am I this way? I hate myself.
It was back in January. Our friends and I were sat all of five feet away from her casket during the service. She wasn’t religious, but they held a service anyway.
I felt like I couldn’t be seen crying. My friends were distraught, feeling sick and bawling like newborns. I was like a rock. I don’t think I cried at all. How sick does that make me? The monster who didn’t cry at their friend’s funeral. What’s worse is I’m now realising I never got to break down like them. I didn’t cry for hours or get comforted by doting parents. I was left alone, by my friends and my parents. Only the day after the service did i indulge myself, and I laid in bed well into the afternoon.
What sickens me is how my school dealt with us. A student had just died, of cancer no less, and all they did was shove her close friends into an unused room, leaving us to our own devices and having a teacher check on us every hour or so. We were given less than a week to grieve as one would expect, and yet on Monday, when the first bell chimed the vice principal tried to usher us to class.
The year head approached me a few days after that. She wanted to assure me that the school wasn’t ignoring us, but that ‘protocol’ dictated that the teachers had to get the school back to working order as wuickly as possible. I don’t want to believe that that’s what the protocol actually is, but it was completely unfair. They had little to nothing to offer us in terms of grieving resources or councelling sessions. It doesn’t help that the one guidance councellor in the entire school is completely shit at her job.
What pisses me off the most is how quickly things went back to ‘normal’. It was fake. A blur of the emotional storm that had actually been brewing for months afterwards. Some school, huh.
I didn’t go to her grave, in the end. I don’t think i would’ve been able. Able to bear the sight of her mother and father mourning the loss of their only child. Her broken family and friends.
I didn’t want to have to speak to them. I didn’t want people to ask me about her. My exclusive memories that shone a light on how much better she was then me.
To this day, every time I get a pain in my leg, I wonder, ‘why couldn’t it have been me?’. I’m nobody’s first choice. My own friends habe described me as ’emotionless’ and ‘wasted potential’. How am I not supposed to take that personally?
I know I’m loved. I know i have people who would miss me and mourn my death, but hell if she didn’t deserve to live more than me. She knew what she wanted to do, she never had a bad thing to say about anyone or anything. She was athletic and spontaneous and caring. And I’m a lazy ***** who ignores my friends when they text me.
I haven’t told any of them how badly I want to be dead. I don’t think I ever will. They don’t deserve to go through my petty bullshit. But more often than not these days, I wish I could just die. I’ve considered slitting my throat at least six times while making sandwiches. I’ve considered going to every shop in town to buy painkillers so I could hopefully overdose and die. I’ve considered slicing my thighs and forearms until I bleed out. I just want so badly to end my life.
I’ve never been interested in cutting. I’ve tried it, but it didn’t make be feel better, so I stopped. Instead, I scratch. I itch my skin until it bleeds, and when it scabs over, I pick it until it bleeds again. I drag thumb tacks over my skin until the point draws blood. I poke bruises and cuts. I always feel like I’m in pain, but i just do it less obviously so I don’t have to hide scars or bandages.
I wanted to die long before she died, long before she was even diagnosed, but her dying just made me realise that it’s a possibility. She’s dead, and I could be too. I don’t fear death. I don’t fear what comes after it. I don’t believe in heaven or hell, or an afterlife of any kind. I know what I’d be getting myself into, but I don’t want to do it during the pandemic.
I can’t quite figure out why.
About 3 years ago, I had my first “real” suicide attempt after I was raped at prom (I don’t count all the times I went to sleep with things tight around my neck). For a year or two after, I struggled with suicidal and shame-filled thoughts and was desperate to find an escape. I finally did in the form of my boyfriend who came with a brand new family and a brand new life. For a while I forgot about all the trauma and sadness, I was able to bury it deep under all the new excitement and hope I had. Unfortunately, for the past few months the intrusive thoughts and unexplainable sadness has returned. I have nothing to be sad about but I constantly have a sadness at the root of my thoughts. My boyfriend tells me my “sad aura” has returned. I wish my mind would stop telling me I should just kill myself, I don’t want to die at all. I just want to be ok. Depressions always lurking, waiting for me to trip up.
Maybe ill try going to the doctors again. Hopefully they’ll help me this time round. And if there is a god, I hope that whoever they are, they’ll finally relieve some pain
I’ve been thinking about things that have happened to me a lot lately, and I have realised that I am stranded, stuck, lost, alone in this world now.
My parents, as much as I love them dearly, have no idea about what I’ve been through, and wouldn’t (couldn’t) understand if they did.
My friends don’t understand why I am not the same, why I am not the old me. They have noticed that I am not miraculously better, even after being given time and space.
The only one who does know, is the one that left me like this, and they don’t care. They just went back to their life, to their family, to their friends and just cast me aside.
I don’t know if the fact that they can all go about their lives being the same, being steady, being them, makes me mad or sad.
Yeah, it’s both.
I can’t be fixed. I’ve come to terms with that. I wasn’t broken, I just wasn’t made right. No ones fault. Not mine. Not my family’s. Not even God. If he is still up there. If he ever was.
I’m just here. A misfortune placed on myself and this world simultaneously.
A festering, pulsing tumor in my mother’s womb, which then became a shrieking, writhing imp that my parents forced themselves to love. It’s been two decades since then. How much suffering have I caused in such a meager lifespan? How much suffering will I bring in my wake?
I hurt myself because it makes me feel like I’m bringing about some small justice to the world. But nothing will compensate for the things my loved ones have lost to me.
I’m scared. I feel like there’s something in me. There always was something in me. I just didn’t realize it until I gained the skills to process what these urges were. Angry, vindictive urges. Revenge for a slight that has not yet happened.
I thought if I stayed in place, didn’t move, didn’t poison the world, I’d do no harm to anyone. But people are not islands. The slightest twitch, the smallest shift of the weight can bring about an earthquake. And even still, something still burns inside. Magma bubbling, igneous rock stewing, waiting to be birth from the land in a fiery display.
I don’t even know why I’m telling any of you this. It’s not like you can see it. Hell, my family can’t even see it. But I do. How can I not. I look at it in the mirror. Every single day.
I’m scared. Either I’m going insane or I’m on to something. I don’t know which one scares me more. Does it really matter though? Real or imaginary: monsters are just as deadly all the same.
well, i am BACK.
lately things have been pretty normal i suppose, though i can’t say i’m well, it’s alright y’know? honestly i’m just a bit more anxious than usual today because of a dream i had last night, where i tried jumping off a 7th floor but then nothing happened and no one noticed, so idk. felt off when i woke up.
also, i got an app to keep track of my mood because i always forget, so i can look back if i need to; it’s been helpful i suppose.
anyways, i hope everyone here has, at the very least, an okay day today, tomorrow and so on. bye then
It’s not as bad as it was before but there is never a week that goes by without me questioning whether I’m even worth anything to anyone around me. For a time I truly believed that I wasn’t worth anything and that I was a nuisance to everyone around me and that the world didn’t need me. I’ve seen all these online articles about how the world needs you when you’re questioning your worth but during this time I felt that the world would have been better off without me as that would’ve been one less resource sucking carbon-emitting sack of organic molecules. I’ve heard from others like my parents that I’m not a nuisance, but it’s kind of hard to take something like that in from my parents since they are partially responsible for why I’m suffering from emotional numbness and depression. I’ve heard people argue that the world would be a much different place without me, but the science part of my brain argued that the world will continue spinning on its axis and revolving around the sun without stopping, slowing or altering in any way, meaning that the world as a whole will still be the same, whether or not I disappear. When you have that kind of perspective it’s pretty hard to even take in ideas like how the world will be different without you. Usually, you see something positive at the end posts like these, but I’m just too depressed at the moment to say anything positive or reassuring to anyone reading this, so I’m sorry in advance.
Well in 2014 I lost the girl I thought would be wife. My fiance. And I let her down… I wasn’t good enough to make her happy and so… She found someone better than me. I don’t blame her. I always knew she would see me for what I really am. Worthless.
Here I am 6 years later looking at the empty space next to me in my bed… Wishing she was still here every night.
I thought she would be different. That maybe this time I would be enough. But it fell apart like always.
At the time, I figured by 30 Id be able to fix what was wrong with me. That gave me 9 years, which seemed so long at the time. I thought surely id be able to find someone who could love me even though I don’t deserve it… or that maybe I would somehow win my fiance back, that id be able to become someone worth her love, someone worth being with… But that was never possible, and every year that number gets smaller. It’s down to 2½ now. 2½ years before I die.
Even if someone COULD love me, I could never let it happen. Everyone who is unfortunate enough to care about me just gets hurt. I dont deserve to be loved. And I don’t deserve to be happy, because the cost of my happiness is making sometime else miserable.
Even if I won my fiance back, or found someone new. I could never let them Marry me. I can’t get this picture out of my head that someday at the end of their lives they’ll look back and regret that they picked me. We only get one shot at life. I’m not worth someone wasting their only chance on me. No one should have to go though that. I’m not a good person and I can’t hurt anyone else.
And so I only have 2½ years left. At best, my 30th birthday will be my last. A party of me hopes I catch and die from covid. From what I understand it’s horrible.. And that’s what I deserve. A way to pay for a small amount of the pain I’ve caused for people who loved me. And then no one will have to know how much I wanted to die or why. I don’t want my family to know what I’ve done to everyone who has ever cared about me.
I deserve this pain. And I deserve the weight of knowing the date of my own death.
You know what eats away at you after a while?
Having to lie to your family every goddamn day that you’re doing fine. Knowing they want to help you, wanting to be helped and yet not wanting help at the same time. Having to pretend that you’re not thinking of killing yourself. Seeing that you’re family is blissfully unaware of what’s coming. Having to lie to your doctor, your psychologist, your fucking therapist, that you aren’t planning on killing yourself.
Part of you is screaming, “JUST TELL THEM!” Not because you want to, but because you just don’t want to lie anymore. But you keep your mouth shut. Because admitting it, means they’ll be put on high alert. Admitting it means you’ll be locked away. Admitting it now jeopardizes any attempt you make in the future.
I know I need to die. I know it’s whats best for everyone. For me, for my family, maybe even in some small part for the world. I’ve done wrong. And I will do wrong. That’s something I’ve learned in my short life: people can and won’t change. I am an evil person. Nothing can change that. Because the evil isn’t even necessarily what I did. It’s something inside. Something lying dormant. Waiting for the chance to make itself known. But it doesn’t know I know it’s there. And I’m going to beat it to the punch.
I don’t want to hurt them. My family. My friends. If there was any other way I could do this without causing them pain, I would. But I see it as like pulling a tooth. Just do it quickly. The ache will still be there, for years or even decades, but doing it fast will cause as little damage as possible. They won’t see it that way. They might never understand why. After all, I’ve spent years trying to explain it to them. But they don’t have to. It’s selfish of me to want to be heard when what they truly need is to be rid of me. I won’t taint their grief with my excuses. It’ll just lengthen the healing process. I need to be in and out as fast as possible.
Until then, I need to lie. Keep them thinking I’m okay. Try not to show too much emotion. Try not to cause too much trouble. It’s just like acting. I used to do a lot of acting when I was younger. Back when it wasn’t a way of life. I’ve grown kind of tired of it now. When you do something everyday it loses its appeal. There’s something poisonous about it all. I feel like I’m rotting from the inside out. But maybe that’s what I deserve. Liars often loose track of their stories, and I’m starting to forget who I am. (Actually, I’m starting to forget many things.)
Thank you for listening to me. It’s been a rough week, as my frequent uploads have probably clued you in. But I think this is helping. I might post more here. If this is the only place I can be honest, I’m going to take advantage of it.
I don’t have many options. I know discussion of methods isn’t allowed here so I won’t get into details. But I can only jump, and there’s only one place I could do it from, and I’m afraid I’m going to land on someone because there’s an atrium below. I’m going to go crazy, I already have. I really can’t take it anymore. I hate being alive so much. All I want is a guarantee that I’ll die, and I’ll be at peace. They built a fence at the 2 popular locations in my state. So the only thing I have left is this place… but now I have to worry about people taking smoke breaks below. I want to freaking scream, I can’t handle it. I’m literally thrashing on the bed and crying and I want to bang my head against a wall. I just want OUT! I’m not asking for much. I didn’t choose to be born, I just want to die. I can’t take this.
A few months ago I figured out why I’m suffering from emotional numbness and it is because of my parents and older brother. It all started with a chat over Xbox live with my brother who admitted to being a shitty brother for most of my childhood. At first, I didn’t know how to emotionally process it and at that moment I just wanted to change the subject and just play the game and have fun. It was only afterward that I realized why I couldn’t emotionally process what he said and it was because he was a shitty brother for most of my childhood that I suffer from emotional numbness.
My parents aren’t innocent either because they are also responsible for me experiencing emotional numbness. Basically, when we were young my brother would tease me and I would “overreact” because I’m spectrum and instead of my parents punishing him they would almost always say “just ignore him” or they would punish us both. It was this kind of response towards my brother teasing me that made me feel as if it was my fault that he was teasing me. Another factor that has negatively affected me later in life was that my dad pretty much burned the idea of perfectionism into my head when it came to academics meaning that you either did good or you didn’t put in enough effort to satisfy him. Which, I found out later that perfectionism can be a sign of depression. It was only last week that I told my mom that I’m not in a talking mood with my brother because he is responsible for me experiencing emotional numbness. She responded by saying that seems to be a lot to place on somebody’s shoulders, but I told her that she and my dad were also to blame. She said that you need to forgive or some B.S. like that. This is what makes me angry because she said that everything she and dad did was to make me happy and comfortable in life, well they certainly failed at that because if they did then I wouldn’t be experiencing emotional numbness in my young adult years. All of this just pisses me off that she could even think of that and not show any signs of regret or guilt or admit that she made mistakes in my childhood. Not to mention it took someone dying that my brother did not know, whom he tried to save for him to realize that he was a shitty brother for most of my childhood, that he degraded me, accused me of lying most of the time when I didn’t, which made me feel so small and weak. It wouldn’t matter if I beat him in a knowledge argument, because he always had the size advantage. He would ask me why I always wanted to start fights with him and now I know why. It was because of him, every time I tried starting a fight that was me trying to stand up for myself but I would always lose. It doesn’t matter if any of them say that it’s all in the past because the damage has already been done and they don’t know what if feels like to go through that. For that reason, none of them deserve to know of my attempted suicide story because they are partially responsible for why I almost took my own life. Even if they were to find out I would directly tell them that they didn’t deserve to know and that the only people I did tell were ones who did nothing to hurt me in the past.
i cant its getting too much i want to finish now ill stall
I’m so unbelievably sick and fucking tired of this feeling. I can’t do anything right, I have no faith in myself. The world we live in is a hard fucking place, but it wouldn’t be so bad if I could just believe in myself. Confidence is a rare commodity, and without it I give up. How many times do I have to fuck up and hate myself over it? Why can’t I just realize that I’ll continue to ruin everything I have. No matter the percentage put in my shoulders, a problem radiates to the surface. I’m sick of crying because I can’t do anything. Getting motivated to try to do something. Failing to even come close to achievement. Then feeling like garbage enough that night to cry again. Like what’s the fucking point? These experiences mean nothing to me.
Sure, if I had friends or acquaintances to share them with so we could both grow it wouldn’t be that bad. But I realize I’m stuck in a fucking vortex of having to reach out to my “friends”. That if I don’t initiate the conversation, it’ll never happen. People think I’m popular and that I have plenty of friends, but who the fuck cares when they don’t want to talk to you? I throw my money around to try and create happiness for myself and others. It just deteriorates me to a worse place, because then I realize I’m working for nothing. I try to hurt myself but I’m too scared I’ll fuck that up too. That’s something I know I couldn’t live with. I have fake happiness, because I realize it’s temporary relief from the darkness. You can run, you can hide and you sure as hell can act. Sooner or later, what’s the honest to god point. It’ll shadow us all to our last breath, sooner or later. It’s just a game of who can put run it longer.
I feel like now that I’m not physicaly depressed I’m getting emotionally depressed.Iused to be incredibly sad all the time. It used to be that for some reason, somehow, I just did NOT want to live. I just wanted to die. That is no longer the case, but now I’m starting to face reality and that is getting me depressed. I’m poor, my parents won’t live forever, I’m schizophrenic, my memory is terrible, my social skills are bad, I’m kind of retarded and I’m gay (that last one is only bad for me personally due to certain circumstances in my life that made being gay suck a little I know It could’ve been worse). So These realities are hitting me like a ton of bricks because I’m trying to get out of a bad situation and I need to help others on the way, but I honestly don’t know if it’ll happen. I’m taking steps towards it, but again IDK if it’s possible. My mind now shattered, now broken, lies in the care of itself. Isn’t that Ironic? Anyone who can and would take care of me is so far away. ANd I chose to stay here in order to study. I wonder if this will pan out. I wonder if I’ll make it. I’m trying o hard, but IDK if it’s going to happen. This pandemic makesit harder for me. I wanted physical classes. I neededto be able to witness my teacher and be able to stay after and ask stupid questions that he already gave the answer to. But, no. It’s all online now. I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I’m scared. I’m trying to create a support network here, but as an adult that is incredibly hard. Especially without school or group therapy to attend. I feel alone. I feel weak. Seeing this, the state of the world and the riots is making me sad. I’m feeling a little down and this time with reasons. How unfortunate
I hate myself! I hate myself! Alcohol just keeps enabling me to do the worst shit but its the only thing that takes the edge off. I know im a bad person and its so fucking laughable how im still trying to convince myself im not. I keep scaring people and losing control and lashing out. I dont even want to be alive but i have to be. I have to be for other people but im just so tired and weak. I wish everyone would just stop clinging on to me so hard and let me go. I dont want to be here anymore and its been that way for a long long time.
Why do i keep doing these things. Please just let me go already so i can die