falloutcarter13
Bury me, bury me...
- Aug 1, 2020
- 671
Hi all! I'm new to SS. At the time of writing this first post, my membership still hasn't been approved, actually, which is why my first post is a personal one. If I'd had the ability, I would have commented on so many of you peoples' bravery and honesty before ever posting about myself. This is one of the few places, online or off, that I've ever come across where I get the distinct feeling of relief that comes with knowing "wow, the people here aren't totally full of BS! lol.) In the days and possibly weeks to come, I will gladly be posting words of thanks, encouragement, and love on many of your posts and comments.
BUT, since the ability for me to do that is in the future, I'll start with letting you guys and gals get to know me a little. I'm a 35 yo male from the US. Ever since I was 12 or 13, I've had a strange, certain knowledge that when I left this planet, it would be my choice and by my own hand. In the years since, I've learned that almost every single male on my fathers side of the family - my father himself, his brother, their father, and *his* father - all committed suicide. My mother did too, a few years ago...the official cause of death was liver failure due to chronic alcohol abuse, but she was 100% aware that if she kept drinkng she would die, and she chose that path knowingly. In my book, that's just a very slow and very painful CTB. If suicide is somehow a genetic quality, then I've definitely inherited the gene.
I have *never* felt like I fit in, anywhere. I've always felt like I'm not supposed to be here at all, actually. Like I'm at a party I wasn't invited to, and I'm just fearfully waiting for someone to notice and throw me out. Since adolescence, I've felt/known that I am out of place, out of the right time, not where or when I'm supposed to be. As young as I can remember, I've always felt what I knew was a strange emotion when people would die - I would feel jealous of them. They don't have to suffer anymore. They don't have to keep any secrets. They get to know the mystery that keeps all of us up at night at one point or another. They get to have nice things said about them and then they get to exist in the memories of the living while their consciousness gets to move on to somewhere else.
I have a personal history of suicide attempts. When I was 20, I halfheartedly cut my wrist. It was over something that seems silly and trivial to most people, I had been rejected (rather cruelly) by a girl I thought I was in love with. This attempt was, in retrospect, certainly just a cry for help/attention. I was treated and I took on the attitude of my family about it - it had been a passing phase, it was over now, I was all right. But the feelings of constant sadness and loneliness persisted and even intensified over the years. Even when things were good, I was sad and unsatisfied. Even when I was with close friends or intimate partners, I felt alone. I felt misunderstood, and in most cases I *was* misunderstood. I felt bewildered at everyone around me's ability to cut through life like they were born to do it, to handle challenges and bumps in the road with what I saw as grace and impressive mettle. I have been constantly confused and frustrated at my own ability to do the same. At age 27, I found a girl who was my soulmate, if such a thing exists. I moved 1200 miles from home to be with her, and we were very happy to be together. Even then, I felt not 100% okay, and I saw the same quality in her. After a year of being together, the situation forced us to separate. Being forced to separate from the one person who really understood me pushed me to my first real attempt to CTB. I was living with my grandparents at the time (financially, I was in ruins after having to split with my girl), and they went out of town for a week on a cruise. The same day they left, my long-distance love became my ex-fiance...she told me that loneliness with me gone had been too much for her, and she'd found someone else she'd been sleeping with for two months. It wasn't her finding someone else that affected me so deeply, it was being lied to about it so casually that I never suspected a thing. I felt used, rejected, abandoned, worthless...futureless. I had been prescribed xanax that month for anxiety, but I hadn't liked the way they made me feel, so there were still 88 1mg pills left in the bottle. Without even researching, I took the entire bottle and chased it with a fifth of vodka, the whole bottle consumed inside of one hour. I decided to make absolutely sure my attempt didn't fail, so after a quick goodbye call to my ex, I cut both wrists in the tub - very deep, vertical razor cuts. Unbeknownst to me, my ex called my mom, who in turn called the police for a welfare check. The paramedics and doctors saved my life (although these days, I'm not so sure if I would have actually died even if left unattended, even though I was told so over and over.) After spending five days in a psychiatric ward, I was declared stable and released.
For the next seven years (up until this month) I have tried to keep a lid on things and quell the constant urge to take my own life. It isn't compulsive with me, and its not situational - its always with me to some degree, every second I'm awake. Situations only serve as the catalyst to convince me to give in to the urge. The last few months...hell, the last few *years* have been unbelievably difficult for me. I lost my mother to liver failure two years ago almost to the day. I had to watch her die in agonizing pain, unable to take pain meds because of her inability to metabolize them, defacating on herself and crying nonstop, for over a week. After she died, I developed a rare gum disorder that forced the humiliating process of having most of my teeth removed and replaced with partial dentures on me, a process that lasted almost a year - I couldn't even leave the house for the shame of being a toothless hillbilly until the replacements were ready. Still, I suffered on, soldiered on. After I had teeth again, I found a job after months of searching - right before covid-19 downsizing snatched it away. Broke, alone, I decided to start drinking. It quickly spiraled out of control, and ended with me getting two DUIs within 24 hours of each other. That was early this month. They released me without having to post bail on the first one, and I immediately went out, got a bottle, and repeated my mistake. They would not release me for the second one, of course, and my surviving family all refused to answer my calls, let alone post my bail. After four days in jail, they put an accused murderer in my cell. This is never supposed to happen, but the jail classification system is in shambles because of the virus and quarantine measures. He told me he did it and he loved it, and began to taunt me, saying he was going on death row anyway, so he was going to rape and murder me just as soon as I fell asleep. This, plus the fact that I'd just recieved my 2nd and 3rd DUI (I had my first when I was in high school), was too much for me to handle. I could not see a single reason not to give in to suicide, facing a mandatory 10 year prison sentence under the 3 strikes law and a rape-minded murderer for a cellmate. They were allowing each cell to be out in the rec area for one hour per day, and when they let me out, I was ready. I waited until I knew no guards were watching, quickly tied off the rope/noose I'd made with my sheet to the 2nd tier railing, snugged the noose, and jumped. All I remember after that is pain in my foot and unconsciousness - the next thing I knew, I was in the ER of a hospital. I had been released on another OR bond after the attempt so the jail would not be liable if I crashed and died, which they were worried I would do if not treated in a professional ER. It turns out that the sheet stretched far more than I thought it could, I took the majority of the weight of my leap on my foot, and then dangled, partially hung, for up to three minutes until the guards realized what was happening and cut me down. I was held for two weeks in the psych ward, and then put out on the street, penniless and with a broken foot. My grandparents took pity on me and came to get me about a week ago, and that's where I am now - at their house.
My arraignment is in six days. I plan to plead not guilty, but this is only to buy myself time. When they give me a trial date, I will know how much time I have to set my affairs in order and finalize my EOL/exit plan. I have no chance of beating either charge, and like I said, a ten year minimum prison sentence awaits me. Even if this weren't the case, I would still want to finally, successfully end my own life. I realized this is the scenario I was subconsciously asking for. My family...this is something they can understand. I was always too soft and sensitive for the outside, free world. There is no way I could ever survive prison, and I know I can make them realize this with the right words in a letter.
Ironically, having made the decision to *do*, finally, and not fail, I feel as if a weight has been lifted. I feel like things are right and normal, finally. Its such a relief to have an easily understandable motive to CTB. I expect to be given at least a month before my trial, especially with covid-19 and my broken foot to consider. I plan to spend this time with the friends and family I have left, to just love them and let them love me. I have decided on the SN method, it seems by far the easiest/most effective method available to me (that I can afford.) I also want to meet/talk to some people on this site who I know will understand my decision to take my own life. Feeling understood has always been in short supply for me, and I think a little of that would be so nice before I go. This is a bittersweet thing for me...I'm so sad and sorry for any pain I will cause with my decision, but I am also happy knowing that if I do everything right, I won't have to be here anymore. If anyone is willing to talk, I'd be so glad to hear from you! Thank you for hearing my story and having me here. Love to all =)
BUT, since the ability for me to do that is in the future, I'll start with letting you guys and gals get to know me a little. I'm a 35 yo male from the US. Ever since I was 12 or 13, I've had a strange, certain knowledge that when I left this planet, it would be my choice and by my own hand. In the years since, I've learned that almost every single male on my fathers side of the family - my father himself, his brother, their father, and *his* father - all committed suicide. My mother did too, a few years ago...the official cause of death was liver failure due to chronic alcohol abuse, but she was 100% aware that if she kept drinkng she would die, and she chose that path knowingly. In my book, that's just a very slow and very painful CTB. If suicide is somehow a genetic quality, then I've definitely inherited the gene.
I have *never* felt like I fit in, anywhere. I've always felt like I'm not supposed to be here at all, actually. Like I'm at a party I wasn't invited to, and I'm just fearfully waiting for someone to notice and throw me out. Since adolescence, I've felt/known that I am out of place, out of the right time, not where or when I'm supposed to be. As young as I can remember, I've always felt what I knew was a strange emotion when people would die - I would feel jealous of them. They don't have to suffer anymore. They don't have to keep any secrets. They get to know the mystery that keeps all of us up at night at one point or another. They get to have nice things said about them and then they get to exist in the memories of the living while their consciousness gets to move on to somewhere else.
I have a personal history of suicide attempts. When I was 20, I halfheartedly cut my wrist. It was over something that seems silly and trivial to most people, I had been rejected (rather cruelly) by a girl I thought I was in love with. This attempt was, in retrospect, certainly just a cry for help/attention. I was treated and I took on the attitude of my family about it - it had been a passing phase, it was over now, I was all right. But the feelings of constant sadness and loneliness persisted and even intensified over the years. Even when things were good, I was sad and unsatisfied. Even when I was with close friends or intimate partners, I felt alone. I felt misunderstood, and in most cases I *was* misunderstood. I felt bewildered at everyone around me's ability to cut through life like they were born to do it, to handle challenges and bumps in the road with what I saw as grace and impressive mettle. I have been constantly confused and frustrated at my own ability to do the same. At age 27, I found a girl who was my soulmate, if such a thing exists. I moved 1200 miles from home to be with her, and we were very happy to be together. Even then, I felt not 100% okay, and I saw the same quality in her. After a year of being together, the situation forced us to separate. Being forced to separate from the one person who really understood me pushed me to my first real attempt to CTB. I was living with my grandparents at the time (financially, I was in ruins after having to split with my girl), and they went out of town for a week on a cruise. The same day they left, my long-distance love became my ex-fiance...she told me that loneliness with me gone had been too much for her, and she'd found someone else she'd been sleeping with for two months. It wasn't her finding someone else that affected me so deeply, it was being lied to about it so casually that I never suspected a thing. I felt used, rejected, abandoned, worthless...futureless. I had been prescribed xanax that month for anxiety, but I hadn't liked the way they made me feel, so there were still 88 1mg pills left in the bottle. Without even researching, I took the entire bottle and chased it with a fifth of vodka, the whole bottle consumed inside of one hour. I decided to make absolutely sure my attempt didn't fail, so after a quick goodbye call to my ex, I cut both wrists in the tub - very deep, vertical razor cuts. Unbeknownst to me, my ex called my mom, who in turn called the police for a welfare check. The paramedics and doctors saved my life (although these days, I'm not so sure if I would have actually died even if left unattended, even though I was told so over and over.) After spending five days in a psychiatric ward, I was declared stable and released.
For the next seven years (up until this month) I have tried to keep a lid on things and quell the constant urge to take my own life. It isn't compulsive with me, and its not situational - its always with me to some degree, every second I'm awake. Situations only serve as the catalyst to convince me to give in to the urge. The last few months...hell, the last few *years* have been unbelievably difficult for me. I lost my mother to liver failure two years ago almost to the day. I had to watch her die in agonizing pain, unable to take pain meds because of her inability to metabolize them, defacating on herself and crying nonstop, for over a week. After she died, I developed a rare gum disorder that forced the humiliating process of having most of my teeth removed and replaced with partial dentures on me, a process that lasted almost a year - I couldn't even leave the house for the shame of being a toothless hillbilly until the replacements were ready. Still, I suffered on, soldiered on. After I had teeth again, I found a job after months of searching - right before covid-19 downsizing snatched it away. Broke, alone, I decided to start drinking. It quickly spiraled out of control, and ended with me getting two DUIs within 24 hours of each other. That was early this month. They released me without having to post bail on the first one, and I immediately went out, got a bottle, and repeated my mistake. They would not release me for the second one, of course, and my surviving family all refused to answer my calls, let alone post my bail. After four days in jail, they put an accused murderer in my cell. This is never supposed to happen, but the jail classification system is in shambles because of the virus and quarantine measures. He told me he did it and he loved it, and began to taunt me, saying he was going on death row anyway, so he was going to rape and murder me just as soon as I fell asleep. This, plus the fact that I'd just recieved my 2nd and 3rd DUI (I had my first when I was in high school), was too much for me to handle. I could not see a single reason not to give in to suicide, facing a mandatory 10 year prison sentence under the 3 strikes law and a rape-minded murderer for a cellmate. They were allowing each cell to be out in the rec area for one hour per day, and when they let me out, I was ready. I waited until I knew no guards were watching, quickly tied off the rope/noose I'd made with my sheet to the 2nd tier railing, snugged the noose, and jumped. All I remember after that is pain in my foot and unconsciousness - the next thing I knew, I was in the ER of a hospital. I had been released on another OR bond after the attempt so the jail would not be liable if I crashed and died, which they were worried I would do if not treated in a professional ER. It turns out that the sheet stretched far more than I thought it could, I took the majority of the weight of my leap on my foot, and then dangled, partially hung, for up to three minutes until the guards realized what was happening and cut me down. I was held for two weeks in the psych ward, and then put out on the street, penniless and with a broken foot. My grandparents took pity on me and came to get me about a week ago, and that's where I am now - at their house.
My arraignment is in six days. I plan to plead not guilty, but this is only to buy myself time. When they give me a trial date, I will know how much time I have to set my affairs in order and finalize my EOL/exit plan. I have no chance of beating either charge, and like I said, a ten year minimum prison sentence awaits me. Even if this weren't the case, I would still want to finally, successfully end my own life. I realized this is the scenario I was subconsciously asking for. My family...this is something they can understand. I was always too soft and sensitive for the outside, free world. There is no way I could ever survive prison, and I know I can make them realize this with the right words in a letter.
Ironically, having made the decision to *do*, finally, and not fail, I feel as if a weight has been lifted. I feel like things are right and normal, finally. Its such a relief to have an easily understandable motive to CTB. I expect to be given at least a month before my trial, especially with covid-19 and my broken foot to consider. I plan to spend this time with the friends and family I have left, to just love them and let them love me. I have decided on the SN method, it seems by far the easiest/most effective method available to me (that I can afford.) I also want to meet/talk to some people on this site who I know will understand my decision to take my own life. Feeling understood has always been in short supply for me, and I think a little of that would be so nice before I go. This is a bittersweet thing for me...I'm so sad and sorry for any pain I will cause with my decision, but I am also happy knowing that if I do everything right, I won't have to be here anymore. If anyone is willing to talk, I'd be so glad to hear from you! Thank you for hearing my story and having me here. Love to all =)
