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MindFrog
:Professional Hypocrite:
- Nov 19, 2020
- 723
I almost didnt finish college because of this, and i never took another job because of it. Why would I even want to succeed, anyway? It's not like it can make me feel alive or content with my life. I've been a walking puppet all this time. I'm just slowly cutting my strings.
Puffinz
Member
- Dec 7, 2020
- 94
Absolutely. I dropped out of college because I figured I'd kill myself soon anyway.
Hell yeah!
I thought I would die before my 30s (I'm 32 now) and made lots of wrong decisions which fucked up my life!
I thought I would die before my 30s (I'm 32 now) and made lots of wrong decisions which fucked up my life!
Lastsauce
Experienced
- Dec 22, 2019
- 259
At first shit just happened, then I helped it happen, a lot more.
Wrennie
-
- Dec 18, 2019
- 1,559
That's exactly how it is for me. My executive functioning is nonexistent. I don't have the will to get out of bed and the moment I start thinking about what the future brings it fills me with so much despair that I forget about whatever I was supposed to be planning for.
I used to think "well, if things get too bad I can always just kill myself", but I was naive in that I didn't understand just how hard a peaceful death would be to achieve. Had I known, I would've done many things differently.
Antigonish
Mage
- Sep 19, 2020
- 593
Bought me a couple trips to the guidance. But apparently wasn't serious enough to land me therapist.
Mixo
Blue
- Aug 2, 2020
- 772
I think as a rule, it's a really bad idea to do things that you think will push you to CTB. Survival instinct is surprisingly resilient, even when you've given yourself plenty of encouragement in life problems. It's something I think a lot of people on here don't understand yet until their life gets fucked up enough. I'm in total financial ruin in my home country, in part because of this logic. Of course, if your problems pile up through no effort or encouragement on your part, that's a totally different story.
Conker
Specialist
- Oct 22, 2019
- 351
well, it's not completely fucked up.. so I guess that maybe I have a couple more good years left in me..
Regardless, the nightmare will catch up with me sooner or later. I eventually will have to face reality and take the remaining steps onto my plane flying out of Earth. Lunar boss is not gonna be riding shotgun with me. Perhaps I will find real hope and change course, doubt it though.. Gonna have to be a sound reason for me to trust again.
i've seen way too much senseless tragedy down here.
That little demented fuckwit is going to reap what it has sown.
Regardless, the nightmare will catch up with me sooner or later. I eventually will have to face reality and take the remaining steps onto my plane flying out of Earth. Lunar boss is not gonna be riding shotgun with me. Perhaps I will find real hope and change course, doubt it though.. Gonna have to be a sound reason for me to trust again.
i've seen way too much senseless tragedy down here.
That little demented fuckwit is going to reap what it has sown.
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Justcheckingout
Member
- Jul 27, 2020
- 30
I didn't really mess up my life with bad choices. Just crippling untreated depression has led me to be unable to care about myself very much. I've fucked up my teeth just due to not being able to care. Then when I think about it I fall deeper into depression. It's a never ending cycle.
Oh man, you don't even know... There's been so many times that I've been hounded about my poor decisions and obvious lack of motivation throughout my checkered past, and this is always the worst answer to offer those people when they ask why the hell I made such poor decisions I "knew" would just fuck me over later. Nobody ever believes you- they just read it as being a cop-out excuse to justify your laziness, or whatever other vice they've ascribed to your failures/depression. It's always either a blank stare before looking at the ground and kind of ignoring the response altogether, or a dismissive comment along the lines of, "that can't be true because if you really planned to be dead by now then you would be." The worst of this is when people try to give me "tough love" about my fentanyl addiction. When you live with a physical dependency as severe as this, you're constantly going through the routine of running out and being so fucking miserably sick from withdrawals that it's guaranteed to make anyone around you at that time insist that you tell them what's wrong. Then, when you do tell them, the reply is always either a blatant insult, a chuckle at the expense of your misfortune, a preemptive scolding about any money they think you might ask them for, or, worst of all, a self-righteous lecture about how fucking up has consequences and that means you have to lie in the bed you made. I can't express how much I fucking hate being told I'm just a fucking moron for doing dope because, "You knew it would make you sick as fuck when you did without and withdrawals kicked in- so why did you start doing it at al
I guess they don't realize how fucking stupid that question is when the drug in question is FENTANYL, and I was intentionally taking doses that would kill 10 of any other person doing the same amount. When I started I had a decent little stack of money to blow from selling molly and LSD (~$10,000). The pills I was buying were firmly priced at $10 apiece at the time, and people who'd had daily habits spanning YEARS were regularly overdosing from doing three or less over the course of a few hours. I had zero tolerance to opioids, and the very first time I did fentanyl I bought 15 pills; I snorted 5 of them immediately in a line and caught a light nod for a couple hours before waking up in disbelief at my survival, and promptly breaking the other 10 down into a single line I snorted in one go with about 2 inhales in each nostril. This time I fully nodded out to the point I lost consciousness, but nevertheless still woke up a couple hours later no worse for wear. I couldn't believe I didn't OD- I knew they were the same batch that had veteran opioid addicts nodding out from one or two pills. Regardless, I persevered- certain that I could OD and die a peaceful death at the right dosage. What followed was about a month long run where I bought and railed 30-50 pills EVERY SINGLE DAY for a month until I was completely broke, without having ever been in danger of dying (I was always alone to do it, never narcanned or taken to the hospital for an OD). I can't lie and say I didn't enjoy doing the drug at all- opioids are the love of my life, they kill all of my pain and let me drift into a blissful state of smei-consciousness where all of the shittiest and most active parts of my brain can finally rest, fully sedated. But, and I say this with absolute certainty, I will never die from the direct effects of an opioid overdose because my body is somehow immune to even outrageous 5-10+ milligram doses of fentanyl.
I don't know why I typed all this garbage out, it's not like it's an interesting read or anything. My life story is hardly spectacular beyond the bizarre capacity it seems to have for numerous shitty misfortunate experiences. But that title really did strike a chord with me. I don't have access to a gun because of my prior suicide attempts (even if I _could_ still buy one, I can't _afford_ one anymore thanks to my severe addiction)- and I've yet to succeed in convincing anyone to loan me a gun because of that one attempt that got me hospitalized when I was fucking 13 over a goddamn DECADE ago, no matter how convincing of an excuse I come up with for needing one despite how long I've perfectly masked the suicidal ideations from almost everyone I've ever interacted with. For some reason I seem to be similarly invulnerable to the simple suspension hanging method, despite years now of trying various ligatures in various positions for ridiculous lengths of time (I've literally hung there for 20+ minutes for fuck's sake)- and I have absolutely nowhere I can tie a rope up and just kick a fucking chair except the trees in my yard, but I live at the corner of an extremely busy intersection with cars constantly passing my house into the wee hours of the morning. The only method I have at my disposal that I think is reasonably fullproof is to lay my head on the train tracks up the street. But again, the train crossing is ALWAYS bustling with traffic, and beyond that it's still around a 15 minute walk to get there and I never know when the fucking train might be coming- never mind whether or not it will be arrive during one of the moments where my pussy side will take control of my brain and wuss the fuck out if I WAS able to catch it in time. Not to continue typing what's already become an essay- but it truly does feel like I'm a prisoner in this shit heap body of mine. It's to the point that I've started having these weird depersonalizing panic attacks where I genuinely wonder if I'll EVER die, and if this shit really might be some kind of simulation designed to torment me for eternity. And my god, the thought of that actually scares me worse than my deep-seated fear of reincarnation.
EDIT: Christ, I knew this was a long post but I feel like a prick seeing just how much of the page this shit took up. Sorry for the wall of text guys. I've seen other people make long posts, but not like that- and not one with so little substance. I promise I won't do this to another thread
I guess they don't realize how fucking stupid that question is when the drug in question is FENTANYL, and I was intentionally taking doses that would kill 10 of any other person doing the same amount. When I started I had a decent little stack of money to blow from selling molly and LSD (~$10,000). The pills I was buying were firmly priced at $10 apiece at the time, and people who'd had daily habits spanning YEARS were regularly overdosing from doing three or less over the course of a few hours. I had zero tolerance to opioids, and the very first time I did fentanyl I bought 15 pills; I snorted 5 of them immediately in a line and caught a light nod for a couple hours before waking up in disbelief at my survival, and promptly breaking the other 10 down into a single line I snorted in one go with about 2 inhales in each nostril. This time I fully nodded out to the point I lost consciousness, but nevertheless still woke up a couple hours later no worse for wear. I couldn't believe I didn't OD- I knew they were the same batch that had veteran opioid addicts nodding out from one or two pills. Regardless, I persevered- certain that I could OD and die a peaceful death at the right dosage. What followed was about a month long run where I bought and railed 30-50 pills EVERY SINGLE DAY for a month until I was completely broke, without having ever been in danger of dying (I was always alone to do it, never narcanned or taken to the hospital for an OD). I can't lie and say I didn't enjoy doing the drug at all- opioids are the love of my life, they kill all of my pain and let me drift into a blissful state of smei-consciousness where all of the shittiest and most active parts of my brain can finally rest, fully sedated. But, and I say this with absolute certainty, I will never die from the direct effects of an opioid overdose because my body is somehow immune to even outrageous 5-10+ milligram doses of fentanyl.
I don't know why I typed all this garbage out, it's not like it's an interesting read or anything. My life story is hardly spectacular beyond the bizarre capacity it seems to have for numerous shitty misfortunate experiences. But that title really did strike a chord with me. I don't have access to a gun because of my prior suicide attempts (even if I _could_ still buy one, I can't _afford_ one anymore thanks to my severe addiction)- and I've yet to succeed in convincing anyone to loan me a gun because of that one attempt that got me hospitalized when I was fucking 13 over a goddamn DECADE ago, no matter how convincing of an excuse I come up with for needing one despite how long I've perfectly masked the suicidal ideations from almost everyone I've ever interacted with. For some reason I seem to be similarly invulnerable to the simple suspension hanging method, despite years now of trying various ligatures in various positions for ridiculous lengths of time (I've literally hung there for 20+ minutes for fuck's sake)- and I have absolutely nowhere I can tie a rope up and just kick a fucking chair except the trees in my yard, but I live at the corner of an extremely busy intersection with cars constantly passing my house into the wee hours of the morning. The only method I have at my disposal that I think is reasonably fullproof is to lay my head on the train tracks up the street. But again, the train crossing is ALWAYS bustling with traffic, and beyond that it's still around a 15 minute walk to get there and I never know when the fucking train might be coming- never mind whether or not it will be arrive during one of the moments where my pussy side will take control of my brain and wuss the fuck out if I WAS able to catch it in time. Not to continue typing what's already become an essay- but it truly does feel like I'm a prisoner in this shit heap body of mine. It's to the point that I've started having these weird depersonalizing panic attacks where I genuinely wonder if I'll EVER die, and if this shit really might be some kind of simulation designed to torment me for eternity. And my god, the thought of that actually scares me worse than my deep-seated fear of reincarnation.
EDIT: Christ, I knew this was a long post but I feel like a prick seeing just how much of the page this shit took up. Sorry for the wall of text guys. I've seen other people make long posts, but not like that- and not one with so little substance. I promise I won't do this to another thread
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