smvrtsa
memento mori
- Mar 27, 2019
- 15
This is gonna be a little bit of a ramble, so thank you to anyone who decides to read all of this.
Death has always been a concept familiar with me since I was a kid, I remember the smallest things used to set me off. In middle school I tried to slit my wrists because a friend made a mean comment. I dedicated an entire page of my suicide note to her out of spite.
I remember times I would get stressed about family, or about school, whenever things get hard, my first thought was (and still is) I need to kill myself, I can't deal with this. I get criticized at work as an adult (in my late 20s) and I immediately burst into tears and start drafting a suicide letter in my head (or I rage quit which is more satisfying if not a bit shortsighted). The only thing that makes life even somewhat tolerable is the knowledge that if shit gets bad enough, there's a garage and a load of charcoal calling my name.
I've been in therapy for so long now, but it's honestly been futile because I always keep my suicide plan in my back pocket. I'm unwilling to commit to anything that will improve my life (studying, a new less miserable job, making friends) because it feels so empty and meaningless and vapid, like clutching at straws to make my pathetic life slightly more tolerable. Like even if I was rich and famous and I had friends who loved me, I would still feel lonely and empty and unseen.
I've just always had one foot out the door, and it's honestly so tedious and I hate the way I'll halfway commit to recovery and then start burdening my friends with how much I want to hang out or chat or how our conversations will be 50 texts in a row from me, and then one reply. No one has to say it, I see how annoying and unwanted I am, even when I'm just sending memes or funny wikipedia articles. I dunno, I guess that's the core belief my parents raised me on. How fun! /s
I just feel like a coward, like I'm just dragging it out constantly. I wish I could just stop being a pussy and commit to wanting to get better and just do all the hard things that make me feel intense shame (like going back to school and making friends and stuff) but why on earth would I want to do something that makes me feel shame?
So then that leads me to the inevitable conclusion that death is the only way to avoid such intense feelings of shame, but then I'm too much of a coward to bite the bullet. Some small part of me wants a parental figure to swoop in and give me the unconditional love and affection I never received, and convince me life is worth living.
I think a lot about what it would take to make me happy. And so much of it involves rewinding the clock so I can go back to being a precocious little kid, maybe with a set of emotionally mature parents for once. Even though I know I'm not even that old, it feels like time has run out for me already, simply because I was set up for failure by parents with the combined emotional intelligence of a three year old.
I was so ready to die at the end of next week, I had some pills set aside and everything so it wouldn't be too upsetting or overwhelming, but I dunno, I just had a very okay-ish day at work and suddenly it feels like "oh, I don't need to be hovering over the eject button." Like my life isn't even that bad objectively. My circumstances are of my own choosing, and I can change them.
But it's not like I'll do anything about those circumstances because of how pathetic I am, ha! And there's the Catch-22 of it all, is that I'm so done in having been raised by my parents that I'm too much of a coward to live or to die.
Death has always been a concept familiar with me since I was a kid, I remember the smallest things used to set me off. In middle school I tried to slit my wrists because a friend made a mean comment. I dedicated an entire page of my suicide note to her out of spite.
I remember times I would get stressed about family, or about school, whenever things get hard, my first thought was (and still is) I need to kill myself, I can't deal with this. I get criticized at work as an adult (in my late 20s) and I immediately burst into tears and start drafting a suicide letter in my head (or I rage quit which is more satisfying if not a bit shortsighted). The only thing that makes life even somewhat tolerable is the knowledge that if shit gets bad enough, there's a garage and a load of charcoal calling my name.
I've been in therapy for so long now, but it's honestly been futile because I always keep my suicide plan in my back pocket. I'm unwilling to commit to anything that will improve my life (studying, a new less miserable job, making friends) because it feels so empty and meaningless and vapid, like clutching at straws to make my pathetic life slightly more tolerable. Like even if I was rich and famous and I had friends who loved me, I would still feel lonely and empty and unseen.
I've just always had one foot out the door, and it's honestly so tedious and I hate the way I'll halfway commit to recovery and then start burdening my friends with how much I want to hang out or chat or how our conversations will be 50 texts in a row from me, and then one reply. No one has to say it, I see how annoying and unwanted I am, even when I'm just sending memes or funny wikipedia articles. I dunno, I guess that's the core belief my parents raised me on. How fun! /s
I just feel like a coward, like I'm just dragging it out constantly. I wish I could just stop being a pussy and commit to wanting to get better and just do all the hard things that make me feel intense shame (like going back to school and making friends and stuff) but why on earth would I want to do something that makes me feel shame?
So then that leads me to the inevitable conclusion that death is the only way to avoid such intense feelings of shame, but then I'm too much of a coward to bite the bullet. Some small part of me wants a parental figure to swoop in and give me the unconditional love and affection I never received, and convince me life is worth living.
I think a lot about what it would take to make me happy. And so much of it involves rewinding the clock so I can go back to being a precocious little kid, maybe with a set of emotionally mature parents for once. Even though I know I'm not even that old, it feels like time has run out for me already, simply because I was set up for failure by parents with the combined emotional intelligence of a three year old.
I was so ready to die at the end of next week, I had some pills set aside and everything so it wouldn't be too upsetting or overwhelming, but I dunno, I just had a very okay-ish day at work and suddenly it feels like "oh, I don't need to be hovering over the eject button." Like my life isn't even that bad objectively. My circumstances are of my own choosing, and I can change them.
But it's not like I'll do anything about those circumstances because of how pathetic I am, ha! And there's the Catch-22 of it all, is that I'm so done in having been raised by my parents that I'm too much of a coward to live or to die.
