Hi everyone,
I came across this site a few days ago, and haven't had the courage to register and post until now. For several months now, I think about how to die on a daily basis, many times in the course of they day when I am not occupied by the minutiae of my life. I'm not sure what I hope to get out of this, I think I just need to get these thoughts out there.
I've been treated for depression at four different periods in my life, and finally three years ago I decided it was time to commit suicide. I really had found rockbottom at that point- I had resigned from a job I was good at and had invested a lot into- in order to do a second Masters (which I hated), I was going to run out of money in a few months, I couldn't find another job, and my marriage that had been challenging showed no signs of improvement, one of my best friends had just killed himself, I realised I had never fully got over being sexually abused as a child, and I was dealing with some complex family issues that made me feel quite disregarded and taken advantage of. Due to some ill-thought out suicide note via e-mail, I was found and taken to the nearest ER. After I a few days I was deemed medically stable, but soon found myself committed to a government psych facility despite me offering to go into a private one and having a decent medical insurance. The experience was surreally far more horrible than I ever anticipated, and when I mastered faking feeling better to get discharged, I was sent to a private psych clinic for 3 weeks. In there, I had several ECT sessions, was started on a cocktail of new medications, and attended all sorts of inspiring therapy sessions. So, by the time I was discharged, I left feeling a new enthusiasm for life, which I think was partly influenced by Ritalin (my new psychiatrist felt I had adult ADD). Within 3 weeks of discharge, I was offered an amazing new job, I finally got the courage to admit I would never finish my Masters research paper, and it seemed like sustainable happiness was within reach. That didn't last very long. It's just ridiculous to me how something that happened billions of years ago with some space dust, and all the things that have happened since, all my ancestors and the shit they had to go through...war, colonialism, indentured labour, Apartheid...have culminated in this.
I find myself in the strangest circumstances of my adulthood. I'm back in my childhood bedroom, a few hundred KMs away from my actual home. Growing up- I spent countless hours in here thinking about my life, and contemplating if it was worthwhile continuing. I think I've suffered from dysthymia for most of my life. It all started when I was sexually abused by a male relative when I was 6. Before that, I was by all accounts an outgoing, happy child, which echo most memories of that period. From 6 onwards, I've mostly been consumed by a deep dread, a dislike of myself, an unease in the world...all of which have stayed with me to varying degrees until now.
Any time I've previously thought about suicide in this bedroom, I'd always felt deterred by the thought of how this would affect my family, what this would mean for my next life (I was raised Hindu, but have been atheist since my late teens), and also the notion that things could get better.I really convinced myself that if I worked hard, and was good person, I could be truly sustainably happy- one day. I'm now 37, and except for a brief period in my late 20s, that's never felt within reach. I really cannot convince myself that it will get better for me, and I cannot bear the thought of continuing like this for the remainder of my life.
I've spent the entire quarantine in my house until 2 weeks ago when I had to come back to my hometown to help my parents. My mom (who's only 61) was admitted to hospital 5 weeks ago following a nasty fall, which lead to an incidental finding of advanced lung cancer. I think my mother has been the main source of my need to strive to feel better, be successful, and just stay alive when I really felt hopeless. The doctors confirm the cancer is untreatable, and she has a multitude of other health problems due to lupus. I'm just trying to handle my parent's situation one day at a time, but can truly say I'm utterly exhausted, and when I think too much about it, I feel too devoid of energy to cry. I've felt similarly for quite some time now. But, it's getting really bad. The thought of her guaranteed imminent death has been making me feel like I could find the courage to explore suicide again without being overwhelmed by guilt.
2020 has been the worst year for a lot of people, but this is unsurpassed for me. My husband - an artist and filmmaker- has not worked for months before the COVID pandemic, and his industry is not likely to recover anytime soon. My parents' situation has always been difficult, and I marked this year as when I'd finally get them to officially go into retirement and pack up their lives here. Their small business that helped give me a bit of financial wiggle room closed earlier this year. They really only have me to count on, emotionally and otherwise. And, just like with most things in my life, it feels no matter how hard I'm trying, nothing is working out, and no one is really happy. I just feel consumed by this enormous responsibility of being solely responsible for the emotional and physical wellbeing of 3 other adults- not something I've ever aspired to. After my suicide attempt, they were all very attentive and supportive...but life quickly settled into their needs being more of a priority. They all really seemed to think my main issue was being an alcoholic, despite me trying to explain I just drank to stop thinking. I've been completely sober since my suicide attempt, I have been faithfully complaint to my antidepressants and follow ups with my psychiatrist and psychologist. I started another desirable job with the most responsibility I've ever had a year ago. I force myself to not just sleep or binge watch film/TV and binge eat when I have free time, and instead try to socialise or engage in hobbies. I can see how on paper, it looks like I'm doing okay...
I feel like there isn't a single person in the world - my psychologist (who I consult weekly), my best friend, my husband, just no one- that I can talk to about my feelings without making them feel uncomfortable and lost, and without it culminating in being locked away in another government psych facility. I myself am a medical doctor, and once felt quite certain my passion lay in psychiatry. However, through the years being on the other side, I've come to see what a flawed discipline it is. Despite working many different government psychiatric hospitals during my training and career, I don't think I ever properly grasped how counterproductive the setup of government psych facilities are until I was a patient in one. I really think most people get discharged from there worse off than when they were admitted.
I also just do not see when a planned exit could ever be viable the way things are. I'm almost never alone. There's no prospect of travel, and I was only allowed to leave my home with a strict travel permit to come help take care of my mother. And, even when I could be alone one day, I just don't know what I could do. I previously tried to hang myself, and then when I couldn't carry through with it, took an overdose of paracetamol (lame, I know...but it was the only thing I had access to at the time that I knew for sure would kill me, even if it would mean a fairly long and painful death).
When I'm not feeling despair or numb, I feel angry my parents ever decided to have a child without much proper thought or plan, being unable to provide enough or protect enough from this fucked up world, so that I'm just stuck here without a choice. I feel guilty, because I know, 14 year old me would have looked at 37 year old me and been amazed by the things I've achieved and experienced, and the people and things I have in life. I know there are people out there who would gladly do anything for the life I have, and for the problems I have. I know I can experience joy, there are places I wish I could still see, things I'd still like to try...but also I think- what's the point? It's all so fleeting. All those are brief distractions against multitude of things that feel wrong, how everyday brings with it more problems to solve, life will never improve, and years from whenever I die without planning...all my life's efforts would mean nothing. Looking around the world...climate change, war, famine, poverty, how humans are just the scourge of the Earth, I find it impossible to feel inspired.
Today I found out about yet another acquaintance I know who died too young this year...reading the outpouring of grief all over the country, he's just another person this year who I wish I could somehow have donated my life force to and taken their place in death. Every night I go to sleep wishing I would never wake up.
I wish that assisted suicide clinics like Dignitas would take on someone like me...I'd give anything I could for a quick, painless death.
My one hope has come from this site. I never knew about the SN method, and since reading about it, I think about it everyday. I get a genuine jolt of glee at the idea of something tangible that I can do when I have the time and space. Although, the more I read, the less I am convinced it is an easy way out. But, it does seem more assured of success than downing a fistful of paracetamol with a bottle of vodka.
I came across this site a few days ago, and haven't had the courage to register and post until now. For several months now, I think about how to die on a daily basis, many times in the course of they day when I am not occupied by the minutiae of my life. I'm not sure what I hope to get out of this, I think I just need to get these thoughts out there.
I've been treated for depression at four different periods in my life, and finally three years ago I decided it was time to commit suicide. I really had found rockbottom at that point- I had resigned from a job I was good at and had invested a lot into- in order to do a second Masters (which I hated), I was going to run out of money in a few months, I couldn't find another job, and my marriage that had been challenging showed no signs of improvement, one of my best friends had just killed himself, I realised I had never fully got over being sexually abused as a child, and I was dealing with some complex family issues that made me feel quite disregarded and taken advantage of. Due to some ill-thought out suicide note via e-mail, I was found and taken to the nearest ER. After I a few days I was deemed medically stable, but soon found myself committed to a government psych facility despite me offering to go into a private one and having a decent medical insurance. The experience was surreally far more horrible than I ever anticipated, and when I mastered faking feeling better to get discharged, I was sent to a private psych clinic for 3 weeks. In there, I had several ECT sessions, was started on a cocktail of new medications, and attended all sorts of inspiring therapy sessions. So, by the time I was discharged, I left feeling a new enthusiasm for life, which I think was partly influenced by Ritalin (my new psychiatrist felt I had adult ADD). Within 3 weeks of discharge, I was offered an amazing new job, I finally got the courage to admit I would never finish my Masters research paper, and it seemed like sustainable happiness was within reach. That didn't last very long. It's just ridiculous to me how something that happened billions of years ago with some space dust, and all the things that have happened since, all my ancestors and the shit they had to go through...war, colonialism, indentured labour, Apartheid...have culminated in this.
I find myself in the strangest circumstances of my adulthood. I'm back in my childhood bedroom, a few hundred KMs away from my actual home. Growing up- I spent countless hours in here thinking about my life, and contemplating if it was worthwhile continuing. I think I've suffered from dysthymia for most of my life. It all started when I was sexually abused by a male relative when I was 6. Before that, I was by all accounts an outgoing, happy child, which echo most memories of that period. From 6 onwards, I've mostly been consumed by a deep dread, a dislike of myself, an unease in the world...all of which have stayed with me to varying degrees until now.
Any time I've previously thought about suicide in this bedroom, I'd always felt deterred by the thought of how this would affect my family, what this would mean for my next life (I was raised Hindu, but have been atheist since my late teens), and also the notion that things could get better.I really convinced myself that if I worked hard, and was good person, I could be truly sustainably happy- one day. I'm now 37, and except for a brief period in my late 20s, that's never felt within reach. I really cannot convince myself that it will get better for me, and I cannot bear the thought of continuing like this for the remainder of my life.
I've spent the entire quarantine in my house until 2 weeks ago when I had to come back to my hometown to help my parents. My mom (who's only 61) was admitted to hospital 5 weeks ago following a nasty fall, which lead to an incidental finding of advanced lung cancer. I think my mother has been the main source of my need to strive to feel better, be successful, and just stay alive when I really felt hopeless. The doctors confirm the cancer is untreatable, and she has a multitude of other health problems due to lupus. I'm just trying to handle my parent's situation one day at a time, but can truly say I'm utterly exhausted, and when I think too much about it, I feel too devoid of energy to cry. I've felt similarly for quite some time now. But, it's getting really bad. The thought of her guaranteed imminent death has been making me feel like I could find the courage to explore suicide again without being overwhelmed by guilt.
2020 has been the worst year for a lot of people, but this is unsurpassed for me. My husband - an artist and filmmaker- has not worked for months before the COVID pandemic, and his industry is not likely to recover anytime soon. My parents' situation has always been difficult, and I marked this year as when I'd finally get them to officially go into retirement and pack up their lives here. Their small business that helped give me a bit of financial wiggle room closed earlier this year. They really only have me to count on, emotionally and otherwise. And, just like with most things in my life, it feels no matter how hard I'm trying, nothing is working out, and no one is really happy. I just feel consumed by this enormous responsibility of being solely responsible for the emotional and physical wellbeing of 3 other adults- not something I've ever aspired to. After my suicide attempt, they were all very attentive and supportive...but life quickly settled into their needs being more of a priority. They all really seemed to think my main issue was being an alcoholic, despite me trying to explain I just drank to stop thinking. I've been completely sober since my suicide attempt, I have been faithfully complaint to my antidepressants and follow ups with my psychiatrist and psychologist. I started another desirable job with the most responsibility I've ever had a year ago. I force myself to not just sleep or binge watch film/TV and binge eat when I have free time, and instead try to socialise or engage in hobbies. I can see how on paper, it looks like I'm doing okay...
I feel like there isn't a single person in the world - my psychologist (who I consult weekly), my best friend, my husband, just no one- that I can talk to about my feelings without making them feel uncomfortable and lost, and without it culminating in being locked away in another government psych facility. I myself am a medical doctor, and once felt quite certain my passion lay in psychiatry. However, through the years being on the other side, I've come to see what a flawed discipline it is. Despite working many different government psychiatric hospitals during my training and career, I don't think I ever properly grasped how counterproductive the setup of government psych facilities are until I was a patient in one. I really think most people get discharged from there worse off than when they were admitted.
I also just do not see when a planned exit could ever be viable the way things are. I'm almost never alone. There's no prospect of travel, and I was only allowed to leave my home with a strict travel permit to come help take care of my mother. And, even when I could be alone one day, I just don't know what I could do. I previously tried to hang myself, and then when I couldn't carry through with it, took an overdose of paracetamol (lame, I know...but it was the only thing I had access to at the time that I knew for sure would kill me, even if it would mean a fairly long and painful death).
When I'm not feeling despair or numb, I feel angry my parents ever decided to have a child without much proper thought or plan, being unable to provide enough or protect enough from this fucked up world, so that I'm just stuck here without a choice. I feel guilty, because I know, 14 year old me would have looked at 37 year old me and been amazed by the things I've achieved and experienced, and the people and things I have in life. I know there are people out there who would gladly do anything for the life I have, and for the problems I have. I know I can experience joy, there are places I wish I could still see, things I'd still like to try...but also I think- what's the point? It's all so fleeting. All those are brief distractions against multitude of things that feel wrong, how everyday brings with it more problems to solve, life will never improve, and years from whenever I die without planning...all my life's efforts would mean nothing. Looking around the world...climate change, war, famine, poverty, how humans are just the scourge of the Earth, I find it impossible to feel inspired.
Today I found out about yet another acquaintance I know who died too young this year...reading the outpouring of grief all over the country, he's just another person this year who I wish I could somehow have donated my life force to and taken their place in death. Every night I go to sleep wishing I would never wake up.
I wish that assisted suicide clinics like Dignitas would take on someone like me...I'd give anything I could for a quick, painless death.
My one hope has come from this site. I never knew about the SN method, and since reading about it, I think about it everyday. I get a genuine jolt of glee at the idea of something tangible that I can do when I have the time and space. Although, the more I read, the less I am convinced it is an easy way out. But, it does seem more assured of success than downing a fistful of paracetamol with a bottle of vodka.
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