greyblue_bian
2x Failed CTB Member
- Jun 10, 2022
- 184
I'm not sure whether or not I will kill myself by the time I finish my book. I'm not sure if I "deserve" death. No one deserves anything that could give them some kind of relief from the guilt, regret, anger, or sadness they feel, apparently. I'm not sure if I'll ever finish my book. I'm not sure if I'll actually make it into college in these next few months and I'm not sure if I'll actually push myself to get a driver's license. But, that's not my point.
The kind of sense of duty I've felt to be "disposable" to other people because they have made me that way is re-planting itself back into me and re-growing inside me, I guess you could say. I think this is where the glimpses of hope I get stem from (plant pun). I feel like I should live on and prove others wrong. I should prove that I'm not a bad influence, manipulative, sensitive, an idiot, a thief, or a liar. That I can get the things I've wanted without them. You know, the things those very mainstream, but inspiring movies about empowering oneself show. And at the same time, I feel that I should prove to others that I'm all the things they said I am. I think I should be as pathetic as they presented me when they verbally spit on me when I was and wasn't there. I think I should let others use my body and my need for constant reassurance for entertainment and pleasure as they did before. I fucking fantasize about it even. I've never felt anything better than that. It feels good when I am struggling in any aspect of my life. It feels good when it hurts the most. When I actually let it get to me. It reminds me that I am alive. And that feels good. So, the only reason I think I'm suicidal is because of how these two mindsets are constantly conflicting, and ironically, my death would be a mixture of them: to bring myself more contentment and peace than I have ever let myself feel and out of spite of the people that contributed to my hurting. Maybe they would learn something. Maybe they will deny that they've ever taken any part in how I felt and why I did what I did. You know, to protect themselves. It doesn't matter. I can't control what they think or do, no matter how much the latter repulses me. Nonetheless, I would be dead in this scenario I'm painting here, and they wouldn't be able to change that. It would be my choice.
And so would choosing to live. I could cut everyone I wanted to off and go off and live on my own. On the street, in a studio apartment in a city, a fucking penthouse, a trailer home. Who cares; I would be as "free" as I could be. I would live with the guilt of the things I've done, but with more "human-ness" because I wouldn't be shamed for them by people who have done equally or even worse damage to others and denied it. I would be human. And they wouldn't be able to change that. It would be my choice.
I'm going to continue living for awhile and continue trying (as in make half-assed efforts) to become better at living and if I ever get to the end of making and publishing my book, I'll look up again and see where I am and decide from there like I always do.
I am "free" because I'm disposable. I'm trying to remember that.
The kind of sense of duty I've felt to be "disposable" to other people because they have made me that way is re-planting itself back into me and re-growing inside me, I guess you could say. I think this is where the glimpses of hope I get stem from (plant pun). I feel like I should live on and prove others wrong. I should prove that I'm not a bad influence, manipulative, sensitive, an idiot, a thief, or a liar. That I can get the things I've wanted without them. You know, the things those very mainstream, but inspiring movies about empowering oneself show. And at the same time, I feel that I should prove to others that I'm all the things they said I am. I think I should be as pathetic as they presented me when they verbally spit on me when I was and wasn't there. I think I should let others use my body and my need for constant reassurance for entertainment and pleasure as they did before. I fucking fantasize about it even. I've never felt anything better than that. It feels good when I am struggling in any aspect of my life. It feels good when it hurts the most. When I actually let it get to me. It reminds me that I am alive. And that feels good. So, the only reason I think I'm suicidal is because of how these two mindsets are constantly conflicting, and ironically, my death would be a mixture of them: to bring myself more contentment and peace than I have ever let myself feel and out of spite of the people that contributed to my hurting. Maybe they would learn something. Maybe they will deny that they've ever taken any part in how I felt and why I did what I did. You know, to protect themselves. It doesn't matter. I can't control what they think or do, no matter how much the latter repulses me. Nonetheless, I would be dead in this scenario I'm painting here, and they wouldn't be able to change that. It would be my choice.
And so would choosing to live. I could cut everyone I wanted to off and go off and live on my own. On the street, in a studio apartment in a city, a fucking penthouse, a trailer home. Who cares; I would be as "free" as I could be. I would live with the guilt of the things I've done, but with more "human-ness" because I wouldn't be shamed for them by people who have done equally or even worse damage to others and denied it. I would be human. And they wouldn't be able to change that. It would be my choice.
I'm going to continue living for awhile and continue trying (as in make half-assed efforts) to become better at living and if I ever get to the end of making and publishing my book, I'll look up again and see where I am and decide from there like I always do.
I am "free" because I'm disposable. I'm trying to remember that.
