I hate my life, deeply and thoroughly. Every night I go to bed hoping I don't wake up. Or I stay up lurking here, researching, fantasizing. And still… I don't CTB, and likely never will. Not because I think things can get better, but because there's no clean exit.
That's my grievance: the only way to reduce my suffering would be to outsource it to everyone else. I'd get silence. They'd get the aftermath—the crime scene, the phone calls, the bills, the logistics, the headaches. Screw the pro-life/pro-choice bullshit. I'm just anti-suffering, and it seems I can't end mine without piling it on others.
My life is a total shit show: I have bipolar disorder. Earlier this year I spun into a manic episode. My kids were removed. My fiancé left me. I torched my friends. I lost my job. Four psych-ward hospitalizations in six months. Now I'm on court-ordered antipsychotic injections. The shots ended the chaos but dropped me into a heavy, overwhelming depression that's left me completely dead inside.
The bill keeps coming due. I'm in a giant place I can't afford, crammed with furniture I bought for a life that evaporated. A new roommate now depends on me for the lease. Relatives are renting the old house I still own. What's left are child support, legal fees, and social craters where friends, family, and colleagues used to be.
There's nothing left for me. A clean CTB would feel like the biggest mercy. But it's fantasy. I can't. Why? Because someone has to find me. And then clean up. Not metaphorically—actual bleach, actual carpets. CTB isn't a mic-drop ending; it's just another mess someone else has to clean up.
Then there's the landlord with my name on a lease. A roommate and relatives suddenly left stranded with nowhere to live. Family juggling keys, pets, plants, passwords, bills, and utilities. Storage units, estate bullshit, drawers full of warranties, insurance, and chargers no one wanted to inherit. A calendar full of cancellations—employer, school, court, banks—handled by the few remaining people who didn't ask for any of it.
How can I rest in peace knowing the chaos that'd multiply if I were to CTB? I don't get to burn down my life just to avoid cleaning it. Even if I can't clean it. Even if it kills me to try.
Anyone else stuck in this catch-22? Trapped in a completely miserable life, unable to escape it—not because you don't want to, not because you couldn't if you tried, but because you're literally tethered to life by the logistics of it all.
I always wonder who actually CTB. Are they mostly very young or much older so none of this applies? Do they manage to tie all the impossible loose ends first, somehow? Or do they not think about what comes next—or just don't care?
If you are staying due to obligations, what is getting you through it all? If you are planning to CTB, how are you reducing the collateral damage?
That's my grievance: the only way to reduce my suffering would be to outsource it to everyone else. I'd get silence. They'd get the aftermath—the crime scene, the phone calls, the bills, the logistics, the headaches. Screw the pro-life/pro-choice bullshit. I'm just anti-suffering, and it seems I can't end mine without piling it on others.
My life is a total shit show: I have bipolar disorder. Earlier this year I spun into a manic episode. My kids were removed. My fiancé left me. I torched my friends. I lost my job. Four psych-ward hospitalizations in six months. Now I'm on court-ordered antipsychotic injections. The shots ended the chaos but dropped me into a heavy, overwhelming depression that's left me completely dead inside.
The bill keeps coming due. I'm in a giant place I can't afford, crammed with furniture I bought for a life that evaporated. A new roommate now depends on me for the lease. Relatives are renting the old house I still own. What's left are child support, legal fees, and social craters where friends, family, and colleagues used to be.
There's nothing left for me. A clean CTB would feel like the biggest mercy. But it's fantasy. I can't. Why? Because someone has to find me. And then clean up. Not metaphorically—actual bleach, actual carpets. CTB isn't a mic-drop ending; it's just another mess someone else has to clean up.
Then there's the landlord with my name on a lease. A roommate and relatives suddenly left stranded with nowhere to live. Family juggling keys, pets, plants, passwords, bills, and utilities. Storage units, estate bullshit, drawers full of warranties, insurance, and chargers no one wanted to inherit. A calendar full of cancellations—employer, school, court, banks—handled by the few remaining people who didn't ask for any of it.
How can I rest in peace knowing the chaos that'd multiply if I were to CTB? I don't get to burn down my life just to avoid cleaning it. Even if I can't clean it. Even if it kills me to try.
Anyone else stuck in this catch-22? Trapped in a completely miserable life, unable to escape it—not because you don't want to, not because you couldn't if you tried, but because you're literally tethered to life by the logistics of it all.
I always wonder who actually CTB. Are they mostly very young or much older so none of this applies? Do they manage to tie all the impossible loose ends first, somehow? Or do they not think about what comes next—or just don't care?
If you are staying due to obligations, what is getting you through it all? If you are planning to CTB, how are you reducing the collateral damage?
