shouldbedirt
Member
- Jun 5, 2024
- 9
I've known I needed to die for a long time, seriously considered it quite a bit throughout my childhood, came very close about 3 years ago. I honestly don't know why I'm still here. I feel like I'm living on borrowed time. I missed my chance.
I kept thinking about what would happen to my family. I kept thinking about who would find my body. I thought about what would happen to my cats and my few sentimental items. I wanted to end my suffering so, so badly, but all the thoughts of the going on without me scared the shit out of me.
Logically I know I wouldn't be there to see it, but I don't want these horrible things to be the last thing I think about. I can't delude myself into thinking things would all be okay for the ones I care about. I can't delude myself into thinking they'd respect my dying wishes.
I didn't take my own life when I had the chance... my severe month-long anxious episode slowly got better... so I thought... I regret it. I can trick myself into thinking living was worth it for brief spells, but nothing is really getting better. I still don't have a job. I don't think I'll ever be able to have a job. My anxiety and fear of side effects is so severe I can't even treat it properly. Everything involving my body terrifies me... even simple things... It all comes down to this body. I wish I didn't have a body. I'm slowly becoming terrified of every bodily function out of my control. I feel like my fear finds something new to latch onto every handful of years... but it's getting faster. And worse. Things that I used to not care about terrify me now. There's no fixing this... I'm terrified of getting sick, I'm terrified of any substance, any weird feeling, it doesn't even have to hurt for me to be scared of it. I just wish I was dead and couldn't feel anything. I have nothing to distract me now. no complicated relationships, no occupation. Not that I could handle any of these things now anyway. All I do is distract myself. All day, until I fall asleep, wake up, do it all over again. I have no purpose or ambition.
I should've died in that closet. I should've swallowed my pride and my fear and died. Now I've gone and made it all worse... I live with my parents now, thin walls, weak ceiling. closets full and rotting. no lock on my door. there is never a time where I'm home alone there's too many people here. people I care about. I never leave the house on my own either. I'm fucked. All I can do is hope for an opportunity to steal my dad's gun (which I don't know how to use) and sneak out somewhere where my family or random kids won't find my body. not sure how I'd sneak such a huge gun out without being conspicuous anyway. I think I'm just fucked. I have to push through somehow. fuck. I'm supposed to be dead.
I kept thinking about what would happen to my family. I kept thinking about who would find my body. I thought about what would happen to my cats and my few sentimental items. I wanted to end my suffering so, so badly, but all the thoughts of the going on without me scared the shit out of me.
Logically I know I wouldn't be there to see it, but I don't want these horrible things to be the last thing I think about. I can't delude myself into thinking things would all be okay for the ones I care about. I can't delude myself into thinking they'd respect my dying wishes.
I didn't take my own life when I had the chance... my severe month-long anxious episode slowly got better... so I thought... I regret it. I can trick myself into thinking living was worth it for brief spells, but nothing is really getting better. I still don't have a job. I don't think I'll ever be able to have a job. My anxiety and fear of side effects is so severe I can't even treat it properly. Everything involving my body terrifies me... even simple things... It all comes down to this body. I wish I didn't have a body. I'm slowly becoming terrified of every bodily function out of my control. I feel like my fear finds something new to latch onto every handful of years... but it's getting faster. And worse. Things that I used to not care about terrify me now. There's no fixing this... I'm terrified of getting sick, I'm terrified of any substance, any weird feeling, it doesn't even have to hurt for me to be scared of it. I just wish I was dead and couldn't feel anything. I have nothing to distract me now. no complicated relationships, no occupation. Not that I could handle any of these things now anyway. All I do is distract myself. All day, until I fall asleep, wake up, do it all over again. I have no purpose or ambition.
I should've died in that closet. I should've swallowed my pride and my fear and died. Now I've gone and made it all worse... I live with my parents now, thin walls, weak ceiling. closets full and rotting. no lock on my door. there is never a time where I'm home alone there's too many people here. people I care about. I never leave the house on my own either. I'm fucked. All I can do is hope for an opportunity to steal my dad's gun (which I don't know how to use) and sneak out somewhere where my family or random kids won't find my body. not sure how I'd sneak such a huge gun out without being conspicuous anyway. I think I'm just fucked. I have to push through somehow. fuck. I'm supposed to be dead.
