caotic_realm
Member
- Jun 25, 2026
- 8
It's ironic that someone so lonely talks so much... to himself.
I have no friends, and if I ever did, I lost them as they went their separate ways—life, I would say—because I chose the path of death, and that is where I am headed. I am a 34-year-old man whose life has oscillated between joy and misfortune; yet now, due to certain events, death has urgently summoned me to its side, for I have nothing left to do in this life. If you are wondering whether I am a winner, whether I have lived through a lot, or if I am someone whose life has unfolded normally, know that none of that applies to me. I have never had a girlfriend—unlike so many others—but at some point, I gave up trying to achieve something I desperately craved: a tremendous thirst for love, for being loved, and for feeling that I belonged in this world and that my essence was desired by someone outside my family. Yet, I never managed to find that, and it was painful to watch others succeed—to have images flash through my mind of girls I had once desired, seeing them share their sexuality and feelings with other men, while I faced rejection on every front: by women, both romantically and physically, and by men, who saw nothing in me—no appealing quality—that would make them want to be my friend or hold me in any kind of regard.
I am tired of living; I don't like life—and in truth, I never did. It's just that, in the past, I was kept occupied by the way things were unfolding: going to school, pursuing a degree (which, incidentally, I never finished), and then working—devoting my life to a job that was nothing more than a distraction to keep me merely surviving rather than truly living or feeling alive. After all, I don't feel alive anymore; I see no reason to go on living. I don't have the kind of feelings that would make me say, "Oh, yes, there is something worth enduring this life for." Perhaps my father—but the day he dies will only bring me more pain, knowing that the suffering will persist until I finally decide to take my own life.
Thank you so much for accepting me into this community. I've been reading some of the posts, and it is moving to know that so many people long for the same thing I do—to die. It's not about finding happiness in others' suffering, but rather knowing there is a place where people understand what it feels like to wish you weren't alive—or, as the saying goes, to want "CTB." I recently posted about "my sadness" in a Facebook group; I never once used the word "suicide," yet my post was deleted—in a group supposedly meant for people with anxiety and depression. It really frustrated me, as if even speaking about the pain of living made my words unworthy of being read—or at least unworthy of simply existing there, unread but published. In a way, the world "deleted" me long ago, given that I've been a "NEET" for several years now; the happiest moment imaginable will be when I can finally die and withdraw from a world that never welcomed me—a feeling that is mutual, as I also loathe the world, or rather, the people in it.
I have no friends, and if I ever did, I lost them as they went their separate ways—life, I would say—because I chose the path of death, and that is where I am headed. I am a 34-year-old man whose life has oscillated between joy and misfortune; yet now, due to certain events, death has urgently summoned me to its side, for I have nothing left to do in this life. If you are wondering whether I am a winner, whether I have lived through a lot, or if I am someone whose life has unfolded normally, know that none of that applies to me. I have never had a girlfriend—unlike so many others—but at some point, I gave up trying to achieve something I desperately craved: a tremendous thirst for love, for being loved, and for feeling that I belonged in this world and that my essence was desired by someone outside my family. Yet, I never managed to find that, and it was painful to watch others succeed—to have images flash through my mind of girls I had once desired, seeing them share their sexuality and feelings with other men, while I faced rejection on every front: by women, both romantically and physically, and by men, who saw nothing in me—no appealing quality—that would make them want to be my friend or hold me in any kind of regard.
I am tired of living; I don't like life—and in truth, I never did. It's just that, in the past, I was kept occupied by the way things were unfolding: going to school, pursuing a degree (which, incidentally, I never finished), and then working—devoting my life to a job that was nothing more than a distraction to keep me merely surviving rather than truly living or feeling alive. After all, I don't feel alive anymore; I see no reason to go on living. I don't have the kind of feelings that would make me say, "Oh, yes, there is something worth enduring this life for." Perhaps my father—but the day he dies will only bring me more pain, knowing that the suffering will persist until I finally decide to take my own life.
Thank you so much for accepting me into this community. I've been reading some of the posts, and it is moving to know that so many people long for the same thing I do—to die. It's not about finding happiness in others' suffering, but rather knowing there is a place where people understand what it feels like to wish you weren't alive—or, as the saying goes, to want "CTB." I recently posted about "my sadness" in a Facebook group; I never once used the word "
