interna
Gone Tomorrow, Here Today
- Dec 1, 2025
- 285
Hi, everyone. I'm going today by hanging, or so I hope.
Hanging has always been my method of choice. I feel drawn to it, whatever the reason, and I had an almost successful FSH attempt early January. Circumstances now, though, lead me to believe I could fail to hang myself, so I was originally meant to go with SN as backup. However, I had financial issues and failed to buy the AE needed. I'm not looking to risk it and overdose on SN without following protocol, so I'll be trying to hang myself (FSH) from a tree this afternoon.
Like I said, I am absolutely mortified of failing again. For the past few months, I haven't been able to imagine being alive past August, and I know I'm going to be broken if that ends up being the outcome. I don't trust myself in the slightest, but I have a will, and if there's a will, God, I hope there's a way.
All in all, I'm not satisfied with my tidying up of things. It could've been so, so much better. I could've done more. My time ran out. There lacked an effort not to waste it.
I wanted to leave behind covers of songs dear to me, but my guitar broke. I wanted to clean up my room, but I never got around to it. I wanted to take a nice bath, but depression got the best of me. I wanted to listen to my favorite artists' entire discography, but I procrastinated. I wanted to donate my clothes, but I put no research into it. I wanted to document my last days, but I didn't. So much unfulfillment. I can't help but wonder what for.
In situations like this, if one is particularly ambivalent, we might find ourselves thinking about right and wrong choices. Is dying the best option for me? Am I throwing away life? Could it get better? I was plagued by thoughts like these – and by thoughts of death and cessation of feeling all the same – my last weeks. I noticed the moment I committed to dying, good things started happening around me. Loved ones accomplished long-standing goals of theirs such as getting an education, entering fervently sought-after relationships, or improvement of oneself in general, and I too was met with new opportunities: I had to question whether my choice to die played any part in it.
How come things look up only once I've settled on suicide? Is my death necessary to the betterment of those around me? Am I selfish for believing so?
This, also, made me think about my faith. Many times, I found myself reflecting upon whether the flood of positives should've been acknowledged as a sign, as an effort to keep me around. Is God, be that the Universe or Earth itself, trying to bring me to a halt? Doubt comes in. Just what are you trying to save me from? It might not even be about me at all. In spite of my self-hatred, and fueled by what may or may not be grandiose thinking, I have always regarded myself as a pillar of the world and connections surrounding me, and have come to conclusions of disarray in the case of my passing. It comes across as awful to recognize oneself as important to people, and for that to not suffice, but that sums up much of my experience with life.
I am uninterested in more ways than I have the brains to deduce. Life, for me, seems unable to write up a convincing enough list of reasons to live it. I was privileged enough to have experiences some will never, such as having a roof over my head and eating yummy food. I can love, I can want, I can create, I can feel – but what now? I've already done it. I have lived. I am content. What more can I ask for? Why should I keep going? I don't desire growing old, nor buying a house, nor getting engaged. The things I want to do, and have had the resources to accomplish, I've done. To those like me, I propose accepting things will never be the way one wants them to be, and being comfortable with dying unrealized, and opening up to the mundane as a finishing ceremony. Although it is only human to do so, I realize seeking closure rarely brings it.
It's hard to grieve myself. No one will ever know me as well as I knew myself, and there lies my tragedy. I've always desperately yearned to be known & integrated, yet was dishonest and distant my whole life. I've veiled myself in lies for a decade, and there's no coming back from that in a way I can stomach. Being a cohesive individual, also, would've been nice. I wouldn't wish the identity fragmentation I experience on anyone. Being so scattered, and constantly at war with oneself, is very exhausting. Knowing I'm writing my last words, and knowing they will forever define me in the minds of the people I care for, has proven to be a problem of its own— this, too, is something I had to get comfortable with: picking the fixed words of an ever-changing self.
I'd rather save the really personal stuff for private, but I can affirm I wish I'd been a better person.
Even if I fail today, I'll end up dying once I have enough money, so I've already written my notes and left behind a website where I documented whatever dreams I had my last days. Like many others, my preparations have always been about making grief as manageable as possible for those I deeply care about, and I can only pray for all the things I left behind to be a shoulder to cry on, even for the ones who might have to mourn me all by themselves. I hope, in my absence, no one suffers too much, and that my weakness is forgiven.
There's a lot of things to say about my life, as plain as it was always meant to be. Mostly, my afflictions were standard, such as poverty, bullying, and childhood trauma. I lucked out. I'm grateful.
I'll update once my final hour draws near. It was a good run.
-interna
Hanging has always been my method of choice. I feel drawn to it, whatever the reason, and I had an almost successful FSH attempt early January. Circumstances now, though, lead me to believe I could fail to hang myself, so I was originally meant to go with SN as backup. However, I had financial issues and failed to buy the AE needed. I'm not looking to risk it and overdose on SN without following protocol, so I'll be trying to hang myself (FSH) from a tree this afternoon.
Like I said, I am absolutely mortified of failing again. For the past few months, I haven't been able to imagine being alive past August, and I know I'm going to be broken if that ends up being the outcome. I don't trust myself in the slightest, but I have a will, and if there's a will, God, I hope there's a way.
All in all, I'm not satisfied with my tidying up of things. It could've been so, so much better. I could've done more. My time ran out. There lacked an effort not to waste it.
I wanted to leave behind covers of songs dear to me, but my guitar broke. I wanted to clean up my room, but I never got around to it. I wanted to take a nice bath, but depression got the best of me. I wanted to listen to my favorite artists' entire discography, but I procrastinated. I wanted to donate my clothes, but I put no research into it. I wanted to document my last days, but I didn't. So much unfulfillment. I can't help but wonder what for.
In situations like this, if one is particularly ambivalent, we might find ourselves thinking about right and wrong choices. Is dying the best option for me? Am I throwing away life? Could it get better? I was plagued by thoughts like these – and by thoughts of death and cessation of feeling all the same – my last weeks. I noticed the moment I committed to dying, good things started happening around me. Loved ones accomplished long-standing goals of theirs such as getting an education, entering fervently sought-after relationships, or improvement of oneself in general, and I too was met with new opportunities: I had to question whether my choice to die played any part in it.
How come things look up only once I've settled on suicide? Is my death necessary to the betterment of those around me? Am I selfish for believing so?
This, also, made me think about my faith. Many times, I found myself reflecting upon whether the flood of positives should've been acknowledged as a sign, as an effort to keep me around. Is God, be that the Universe or Earth itself, trying to bring me to a halt? Doubt comes in. Just what are you trying to save me from? It might not even be about me at all. In spite of my self-hatred, and fueled by what may or may not be grandiose thinking, I have always regarded myself as a pillar of the world and connections surrounding me, and have come to conclusions of disarray in the case of my passing. It comes across as awful to recognize oneself as important to people, and for that to not suffice, but that sums up much of my experience with life.
I am uninterested in more ways than I have the brains to deduce. Life, for me, seems unable to write up a convincing enough list of reasons to live it. I was privileged enough to have experiences some will never, such as having a roof over my head and eating yummy food. I can love, I can want, I can create, I can feel – but what now? I've already done it. I have lived. I am content. What more can I ask for? Why should I keep going? I don't desire growing old, nor buying a house, nor getting engaged. The things I want to do, and have had the resources to accomplish, I've done. To those like me, I propose accepting things will never be the way one wants them to be, and being comfortable with dying unrealized, and opening up to the mundane as a finishing ceremony. Although it is only human to do so, I realize seeking closure rarely brings it.
It's hard to grieve myself. No one will ever know me as well as I knew myself, and there lies my tragedy. I've always desperately yearned to be known & integrated, yet was dishonest and distant my whole life. I've veiled myself in lies for a decade, and there's no coming back from that in a way I can stomach. Being a cohesive individual, also, would've been nice. I wouldn't wish the identity fragmentation I experience on anyone. Being so scattered, and constantly at war with oneself, is very exhausting. Knowing I'm writing my last words, and knowing they will forever define me in the minds of the people I care for, has proven to be a problem of its own— this, too, is something I had to get comfortable with: picking the fixed words of an ever-changing self.
I'd rather save the really personal stuff for private, but I can affirm I wish I'd been a better person.
Even if I fail today, I'll end up dying once I have enough money, so I've already written my notes and left behind a website where I documented whatever dreams I had my last days. Like many others, my preparations have always been about making grief as manageable as possible for those I deeply care about, and I can only pray for all the things I left behind to be a shoulder to cry on, even for the ones who might have to mourn me all by themselves. I hope, in my absence, no one suffers too much, and that my weakness is forgiven.
There's a lot of things to say about my life, as plain as it was always meant to be. Mostly, my afflictions were standard, such as poverty, bullying, and childhood trauma. I lucked out. I'm grateful.
I'll update once my final hour draws near. It was a good run.
-interna
I also love the idea of going by fsh..
peace and love to you, my friend
