Venting Too Pathetic to Live, Too Pathetic to Die

[PlutonianRooster]

I'm half-heartedly 'planning' to kill myself.
On a day in April last year, I set a reminder on my phone for the same day this year, telling myself I'd seriously consider leaving this life if it didn't get better by then. It's gotten much worse since, and I still have a few months to go.
My 'plan' is to attend my younger sibling's high school graduation, and then die before I graduate university a month or so later. I put it in apostrophes because I haven't gotten necessary materials or my notes together, or done anything at all, really, besides constantly retreat into imagining suicide to blunt my suffering. Even though my instinct to do it has considerably strengthened, I'll almost certainly pussy out of it, like I do with everything. There are too many 'checkpoints' to pass before I even get to the big decision itself. (Hell, I can't even make mundane decisions. I've procrastinated on buying a water bottle for two years because I keep overthinking which one to get, and because I don't like spending money unnecessarily.)
But I can't see a future past then. I'm tired, and all that's more unrelenting than the pain is the world spinning along, leaving me further and further behind. It just gets worse. I don't want to fight anymore.

But when I think 'these are my last few months alive', I feel... very small, for a lack of better words. Like a scared child that just wants to cling onto mom or dad until they make things better.
(I lean towards believing in NDEs - and what they have in common, such as a loving afterlife, multiple lives, and connectedness to loved ones beyond only this life. Surely, I shouldn't be so afraid, believing that it won't be my last time on Earth. Survival instinct is a powerful thing, I suppose.)
In general, I feel as though the accumulated mental pain has made me 'degrade'. I feel less and less like I ever grew up into a collected human being (never felt like it to begin with). Pain unravels my mind until nothing but the childlike fear at the center is left, and I spend hours every day curled up in bed with it, until I can loosely tie the threads of myself back together. It adds a layer of shame to the suffering, being so helpless and weepy.

To sum it up, I guess, being alone takes its toll.

 

[TheHolySword]

I am too weak to live, but no one ever told me the strength it takes to die.

 

[Boots2Scoots]

I am too weak to live, but no one ever told me the strength it takes to die.

THIS. I get told often that this is the easy way out. But I beg to differ. I stand by the fact that I don't believe anyone TRULY wants to CTB. Being able to go through with it all is the furthest thing from easy. But given our circumstances, it's either this or endless suffering for the rest of our days. I think for a lot of us, if given the option to just hop into another body/life, we'd almost certainly choose that over simply ceasing to exist.

 

[PlutonianRooster]

I am too weak to live, but no one ever told me the strength it takes to die.

Very well put.

THIS. I get told often that this is the easy way out. But I beg to differ. I stand by the fact that I don't believe anyone TRULY wants to CTB. Being able to go through with it all is the furthest thing from easy. But given our circumstances, it's either this or endless suffering for the rest of our days. I think for a lot of us, if given the option to just hop into another body/life, we'd almost certainly choose that over simply ceasing to exist.

It's certainly true for me, at least. More than anything, I want to live - but not in these circumstances. I'm stumbling through life one hour at a time, and that's with no job and a low academic workload. I can't do this much longer.

 

[Boots2Scoots]

Very well put.

It's certainly true for me, at least. More than anything, I want to live - but not in these circumstances. I'm stumbling through life one hour at a time, and that's with no job and a low academic workload. I can't do this much longer.

I get that. I only take one class and I have an extremely low stress job. I just miss simple things like getting a full night's sleep without being jolted awake by anxiety. Or having a full bellied laugh. I'd do anything in the world to go back in time and stop myself from becoming this husk of a person that I am now. No part of me truly wants to stop existing. But when I'm already barely living, what's the point?

 

[PlutonianRooster]

I get that. I only take one class and I have an extremely low stress job. I just miss simple things like getting a full night's sleep without being jolted awake by anxiety. Or having a full bellied laugh. I'd do anything in the world to go back in time and stop myself from becoming this husk of a person that I am now. No part of me truly wants to stop existing. But when I'm already barely living, what's the point?

I understand. I'm sorry. I hope there's peace in our futures, one way or another.

 

[PlutonianRooster]

Reusing this thread as to not make a new post - it's a similar enough topic.

Back when I was hanging out with my first and only love - now ex - before I asked them to be with me, I tripped on a shitty sidewalk in the dark, hit my head, and stunned myself for a bit. I had some health anxiety back then, and intermittently fretted over the possibility of brain bleeding for the rest of the night. Embarrassing, but they were kind about it.
A short while later - my poor memory won't let me remember if it was one or two months later, even though this was only about a year ago - we ended up just cuddling in bed while hanging out, and officially getting together the next morning. That period of time was the only time I ever saw light in my future. The circumstances that fueled my passive ideation were there, still, but I had hope. I thought that there could be good things in life. I never thought I would seriously plan to kill myself - I just struggled with thoughts that offered relief and escape from a bad hand in life. (I didn't understand how bad it was, yet.)

I recently found out that brain bleeding can occur up to months after the initial head injury.
Now, I wish it really did happen. I wish it just hit me one night, while I was unconscious, while I was at the side of the person I loved. Or while I was alone, but sleeping just to speed up time to the next day I'd see them, with the memory of them on my skin still fresh. I wish it whisked me away unaware, with the little hope and innocence I had in me, thinking that I could win against my circumstances.
Instead, this is how I'm spending my last few months: alone and in terror. Trapped. Hopeless. Losing my mind inside the dim cavern of my room. Staring at contacts and old messages with nobody behind them. Building fantasies from broken nothings to get me through the few hours I can stay awake. Slowly fading.

Will I fully forget what it was like, by the time I die? Will I reach out for the ghost of warmth in my last moments, and find nothing?
It scares me.