I tried to write something like this a few months back. Something about a perfect plan for suicide. Like a lot of things I've had in my life, I failed to commit to it. I suddenly felt that I had to be responsible for my own thoughts, and how I should say it. Responsibility is something to be disgusted by, at least by suicidal people. Either way, I'm continuing this again because there really isn't no reason not to do it. I come back to being suicidal every day, and there's no reason to ignore it saying it.
There's a lot that's been happening in my life recently, and I've found it tangent to what I have to say for myself in this forum. I'll just go what reason I have to say for suicide from there.
I talked to this girl from my former high school a few days back. We talked once from a couple of school events we attended, but we didn't know each other as acquaintances. She was a frequent to one of the Discord servers being hosted for our former batchmates.
I had only recently joined the server, and I was a lurker for a few months until in June, when the people from the server partied after graduation. We're all studying in college now. While the two of us would occasionally interact after that party in June, it was nothing particularly deep.
She would only message me recently again for a couple of drinks, to just hang around. She was always that sort of person. The sort of person to constantly talk about what's going on with her life, as if to affirm what she was already thinking. It was either she was close to everyone, or she conversed rather openly.
We had a drinking game last night. It was two truths, one lie. Games like these often coerce vulnerability from other people. I honestly lied all through out, but she was open about her problems. She used it as a channel to talk about her problems. I wasn't really surprised that she would do it on the guise of a drinking game.
She talked about her mental illnesses (Bipolar). She talked about how she had to take a leave from university because of it. She talked about her sexual experiences, which was frankly a lot for her age. She talked about what was wrong in her life, generally.
She eventually told me about how she attempted to CTB a few years back. No one just brings that up, of course, so I had to ask if she felt fine. She was already a bit drunk, so she didn't mind.
We eventually called it off after a while and said our goodbyes. She thought it was a nice night and thanked me for it.
Having thought about similar feelings throughout my life, it wasn't hard for me to psychoanalyze what sort of person she was. Manic and depressive tendencies from bipolar disorder double-down into a desperate need for deeper social interactions, which lead into transactional sexual escapades. Without a trust of self to process her own problems, she needed to talk to someone and express it. Deeper experiences of emotional suffering bring about a deeper need for its rational. She was desperate to find that meaning. I wouldn't be surprised if she was still suicidal now. I also wouldn't be surprised if she would want to talk about it with me soon.
I realize that suicide is often ironic. When the point is to neglect everything of the world through a single point in time, there is only a desperate need to ask more of the world. To learn a more fundamental sense of unfound appreciation from someone or something. Yet the layman speaks, "if you are too absorbed in your own suffering, how can you be happy?" When we are absorbed in the rhetoric of suicide, more are we unable to get ourselves out of it.
It is as if there should be no reason to kill ourselves in the first place.
I think it is the sole reason on why we actualize suicide. To express our suffering to the world in different forms. Through a conversation, through art, through genocide. Because there is no space for life if it is all for death. There is no more space within suicide for the rhetoric of any conviction to live to enter. There is only the path to self-inflicted death. There is only death.
Suicide is believed, proven through the work of expressing how you want to kill yourself. Suicide is intentional.
There's a lot that's been happening in my life recently, and I've found it tangent to what I have to say for myself in this forum. I'll just go what reason I have to say for suicide from there.
I talked to this girl from my former high school a few days back. We talked once from a couple of school events we attended, but we didn't know each other as acquaintances. She was a frequent to one of the Discord servers being hosted for our former batchmates.
I had only recently joined the server, and I was a lurker for a few months until in June, when the people from the server partied after graduation. We're all studying in college now. While the two of us would occasionally interact after that party in June, it was nothing particularly deep.
She would only message me recently again for a couple of drinks, to just hang around. She was always that sort of person. The sort of person to constantly talk about what's going on with her life, as if to affirm what she was already thinking. It was either she was close to everyone, or she conversed rather openly.
We had a drinking game last night. It was two truths, one lie. Games like these often coerce vulnerability from other people. I honestly lied all through out, but she was open about her problems. She used it as a channel to talk about her problems. I wasn't really surprised that she would do it on the guise of a drinking game.
She talked about her mental illnesses (Bipolar). She talked about how she had to take a leave from university because of it. She talked about her sexual experiences, which was frankly a lot for her age. She talked about what was wrong in her life, generally.
She eventually told me about how she attempted to CTB a few years back. No one just brings that up, of course, so I had to ask if she felt fine. She was already a bit drunk, so she didn't mind.
We eventually called it off after a while and said our goodbyes. She thought it was a nice night and thanked me for it.
Having thought about similar feelings throughout my life, it wasn't hard for me to psychoanalyze what sort of person she was. Manic and depressive tendencies from bipolar disorder double-down into a desperate need for deeper social interactions, which lead into transactional sexual escapades. Without a trust of self to process her own problems, she needed to talk to someone and express it. Deeper experiences of emotional suffering bring about a deeper need for its rational. She was desperate to find that meaning. I wouldn't be surprised if she was still suicidal now. I also wouldn't be surprised if she would want to talk about it with me soon.
I realize that suicide is often ironic. When the point is to neglect everything of the world through a single point in time, there is only a desperate need to ask more of the world. To learn a more fundamental sense of unfound appreciation from someone or something. Yet the layman speaks, "if you are too absorbed in your own suffering, how can you be happy?" When we are absorbed in the rhetoric of suicide, more are we unable to get ourselves out of it.
It is as if there should be no reason to kill ourselves in the first place.
I think it is the sole reason on why we actualize suicide. To express our suffering to the world in different forms. Through a conversation, through art, through genocide. Because there is no space for life if it is all for death. There is no more space within suicide for the rhetoric of any conviction to live to enter. There is only the path to self-inflicted death. There is only death.
Suicide is believed, proven through the work of expressing how you want to kill yourself. Suicide is intentional.
