My Suicide is Imminent: Final Collection of Writings

[Droso]

Dread
That feeling again
The one I can't seem to shake
Unexplainable, something that words can hardly describe

You have to go through hell
Before you start feeling better,
Is what they told me
How long do I have to wait?
When will I start feeling better?

There is no answer
But they tell me it regardless
There is no predicting the future
But they tell me it regardless

Should, need, have to, obligated;
Irrational, illogical, not of sound mind;
Mentally ill, depressed, suicidal;
These words prescribed to me

A dissonance between me and myself
As alienation sets in deep in my bones
I start forgetting who I am, what I believe
I take on the form they want me to be

An actor, and this is my stage
Constantly preforming
They are convinced
They are manipulated
I am deceit incarnate

I can't remember the last time
I felt that my body was my own
A shock runs deep
Every time I look back at the reflection

And it settles into my chest
Heavy on the heart
My brain takes me to another place
A reality of nothingness

Completely blank, completely empty
Forgetting where I am, who I am
And in those moments of nonexistence
I am comforted

—

I, me, my, myself
A foreign concept
"I" am just a continuation
Of a cycle of birth and death

The individual can only exist in society
Constructs defined by each other
Through both positive and negative
Interactions, and nothing else

When one is alienated, isolated
They lose their sense of self
A walking ball of meat and flesh
Driven by biologic instinct

Nothing more, this is where "I" find "myself"
In the rift between consciousness and intellect
Stuck in the static of what is and what could be
This place is the inception of nihilism

A man staring down the Absurd:
What else can he do but accept it?
Avoidance in the ultimate way
The conclusion of a life not worth living

And drowning in this numbness
Reaching past the blur of nothing
There is a particular suffering, deep down
The human distress of not knowing who you are

Of not having that sense of identity
Here we have looped back to the same problem
In a haze of irony
The walking contradiction of life

To accept existence in each waking moment
Or
Come to peace with such a passing:
There is nothing afterward—

A discontinuation

—

Too aware of myself. Too aware of reality. Too aware of existence. Pull me back into the blanket of dissociation. Let depersonalization take hold. I do not care if it kills me. I do not care if it hurts others. I am nothing. I am nobody. Though so deeply, intrinsically connected on a biological level it does not mean a thing. I do not function as human, so why should I accept a human life?

The past continues to haunt me, define me. Gripping onto my skin until it starts to rip from my muscles. Pulling in opposite directions. I am stuck. I am caged. I am free. I am in control.

If you see me as unbearable to be around, why do you demand I stay? Are you too caught up with who I used to be? Are you hoping I can return to that person?

You are deluded if so.

My self concept brings about such agony. Distress. Despair. Discomfort. All I want to do is run as far as the eye can see. Away. Away from myself. Away from any responsibility. And the only way is out.

I cannot come to terms with existence. My cope is to forget that I am and that there is. My cope is to delude myself in fantasy. Distraction until…

Until what?

Until death. And that is the only way I can live. What a miserable joke of a life you want for me. I hope you regret sending me away. But I suppose we are all selfish here.

—

I deeply resonate with the song Numb by The Cure.

—

There really is no point. Small blips of happiness, maybe even mania at times. But for the most part, numbness. And then when it happens, pure utter dysphoria.

What could make it worth it? The only answer would be other people. But I've stopped caring for others. There is only one person I care for nowadays and I cannot have him. It won't happen.

So, there is no point. There is no ambition left in me. No enjoyment. Nothing. Life is incredibly boring.

Except for when I drive. But that is new. And new things are always interesting and entertaining. It will wear off after a while.

Just like life did.

That sounded incredibly cheesy.

—

It's just so. Fucking. Painful. Being a person. Being alive. It hurts so much. Why does it hurt so much?

Please. Just let me dissociate. Or better yet, let me die. Please.

—

It is human nature to keep wondering "what if..", all of the possibilities that could happen in life. So much to the point that we make up stories and get lost in our fantasies. We live for those what-ifs, those concepts of possible happiness. I have never met a human who actually lived for the present moment. It is all about the future, all about goals, all about dreams. Keeping your eyes on the prize— you'll get there someday.

And when you get there, no, if you get there, was it worth it? All of that pain and suffering? Just for the sense of accomplishment? Does that really bring you happiness?

Hope is a delusion to keep us alive. And when it is gone, survival instinct is what clings on. Sometimes I wonder if that's the only distinction between us and other animals: the ambition to create something larger than ourselves. Just for what purpose?

And it's even evident in my writings here. I want to know why. I desire something other than just survival.

Maybe I am still human.

 

[Hollowman]

I want something other than survival too but I think I'm too far gone. I hope you find something.