This thread serves many purposes, being a recollection of the chain of events that led me to this site - via a circular cycle that seemingly will never end, no matter what I do to prevent it. I didn't mean for this post to be long, but I've uncovered memories I forgot I had just by writing here... so for my own sake, I need to write them. The actions I took last night to try to achieve the goal of ending my cursed cycle has landed me writing upon this very thread.
Between 2017 and 2021, I've bore witness to many deaths, almost all of which have been suicide. These people were either friends, were close enough to feel like friends, or family. As a result of this repeated, seemingly endless torture, I've taken on my own trauma. While not even close to being the only reason I'm suicidal, it's definitely not a footnote in the list of reasons.
Because so many people close to me started to vanish without me being able to say goodbye, an unstoppable premonition of loss fills in the back of my mind as soon as people close to me start to show signs of self-harm or ongoing, persistent mental struggles. The last friend I have that I see on a frequent basis invited me to a Christmas party with his friend's family. This post is about him.
My friend doesn't know that I'm suicidal, much less exactly how suicidal I am, nor the fact that I've been romanticising the idea of my death for about five years now. I know I'm at the end of the fucked up story known as my existence, and one of the worst experiences about the deaths I've gone through is the understanding that I'll never be able to have closure with the people I care about. I'd never be able to make amends for my mistakes or come clean with anything I've never mentioned before. Being so affected by this unfinished business for the past half-decade of my life, I wanted to make sure that my friend was able to understand and come to terms with the fact that I am suicidal, and that I can be taken away from him at any time.
I was scared to have this discussion with him. And I had the discussion in the worst fucking way humanly possible. Ever since yesterday, I've broken down in tears six separate times. Once at my home, twice at work (first time being emotionally disabled in front of my manager today!), once while shopping at the store next to the bar, and twice at the bar that I'm writing this in while uncovering forgotten memories.
He invited me to his family friend's Christmas party. I tend to avoid taking photos because I don't want people to see me in those photos in retrospect after I'm dead. I'm trying my best to be forgotten, really.
I tried my best to have fun at the party, and I think the only suspicious thing is my avoidance of photos. That's always been an aspect of me for years, but it was my first time in this family's Christmas events. They accepted me as if I was one of their own. I have nothing against them and nothing to complain about, they were the only people to make Christmas magical this year.
But I'm still suicidal. And in fact, it's getting the worst it's ever been. I've been exiled from my family, and recently am on a self-imposed exile from my online identity. The Internet's been toxic for me, and I've killed my online presence as a result. There was a Discord server that I've sent 300,000 messages in since 2016 that I've dropped cold turkey, alongside all other online activity. Mostly because my recent activity is just doomposting and allowing my desire to die affect other innocent people.
I also have put into motion actions to hasten my departure.
What was surprising was just how at peace I felt.
This wasn't something I could ignore. I don't often feel strong emotions, let alone positive ones. I haven't expressed positive emotions ever since middle school, according to my mom. Despite knowing, romanticising, and attempting suicide over the past five years, making travel plans with a partner solidified the finality of things, and I was overjoyed. I didn't expect this.
I wanted to let my friend know about this side of me. I didn't want anything to come as a surprise to him when it happens, because I know how it can feel like crashing into a brick wall once someone is just taken away from you abruptly.
He was already being yelled at by his mom for staying out longer than anticipated with her car, and I felt the need to bring the mood down in this way on Christmas day after a great event... what the fuck is wrong with me?
When someone asks how his Christmas was this year, my discussion with him is going to be the regrettable, traumatic memory he'll think of before he responds. And I was stupid enough to leave out the context that I've been suicidal for over a decade, so he thinks that I'm at acute risk right now, making matters exponentially worse. In an attempt to consider his emotions, I made the most selfish decision humanely possible.
This is the only friend I have left. He's my friend because he is innocent, and I appreciate his steadfast personality in the face of all of the strife I've seen him go through. I look up to him. I value him to a significant degree.
Why did I have to fuck it up.
Why did I have to fuck him up?
I've started to lose a significant amount of people connected to me since around 2018 or so. The only other time I've dealt with death was when one of my pediatric doctors passed away when I was around nine years old, and even though I didn't even remember who the person actually was at that point, I still didn't take it well at that age. How was I supposed to take the fact that a person who dedicated time to me to ensure that I was healthy has had their life taken away from them?
That's a thought I only had to think about once... until 2018. Up until that point, I've never had to even fathom imagining having anyone close to me pass away. We were in high school, we're just preparing to live out the rest of our lives...
But... this kid who I used to sit next to at lunch every other day, who was also in a relationship with another friend I had, became the talk of the entire school. The discussions were bewildering; "did you hear about the kid who killed himself"? I had not the slightest idea that it could possibly be the whimsical and genuinely innocent alt-style boy that everyone loved. He used to play his music in the corner in front of the bathroom on his speaker, and before school started, when I arrived off of the bus, he ritualistically waved to me with a genuine smile every day. His partner was a gentle, small girl who shared his alternative interests. We all knew each other and were cool with each other.
But that day, his name was in everyone's mouth, for all of the wrong reasons... it must have been another person with the same name. Within seconds of putting the pieces together, with someone informing me of the reality of the situation, I was immediately detached and silent. In that same class period, I isolated myself from everyone else. For the days that followed, many people were quiet and melancholy. People were crying in class, even outside of classes he attended. Everyone knew of him. Some people were making jokes of the situation, which alone sent me into a mental fury that I never communicated outside of my own personal condemnation of those people. It sent such a ripple throughout the school, staff and students, that a group of kids organised and dedicated a tribute to him, while others ran petitions for him to be immortalised within his interests.
He was 16, and it was September. I was already going through my own issues. Come October 31st, I wake up from a two-week long coma after a pedestrian vs vehicular car accident that I was not found at fault for. I wasn't fully sentient until two weeks later, but was in an altered state of consciousness for the two weeks that followed my awakening. I didn't know what had happened to me until after the four weeks since the initial impact. I was experiencing an altered plane of reality, which I now understand to be a result of the combinations of the fact that I was out for two weeks, as well as drugs I was on probably making me absurdly high. But I was able to check my phone. There were messages from a few people, but the one that pierced itself into my reality was the one from my fallen friend's partner.
The message telling me that I need to respond, that I need to say that I'm okay. She said that can't lose someone else so quickly. In the messages that followed, I read that she had be to be sent to the hospital because she made an attempt on her own life. My own suicidality was always a personal thing. To this day, I don't know if the car accident was a suicide attempt, but I do know that this is the first time that I've felt guilt for the fact that I'm in too much pain to be alive.
There's much more I can say regarding that experience, but this thread isn't about that. In the months that followed, I lost a coworker, a person equally as innocent and troubled as the person above. This coworker switched stores, and I always told myself I'd visit him at his new location. But I found out that I could never do so once I learned that he was discovered hanging in his home after failing to report to work.
A year later, the only YouTuber I've grown attached to was involved with numerous run-ins with mental mania for weeks. Eventually, he ended up posting a goodbye video on YouTube before becoming a missing person for multiple days. This person is known for his genuine, over-the-top reactions to video game announcements. He was a person who fueled and validated my excitement for Smash Bros. and was the person through whom I've bonded with my current friend group by. For those in the back, I'm talking about Etika. Etika was such a staple within my family and friend traditions regarding our hobbies, that even my mother shed tears when the NYPD confirmed that this one-of-a-kind person was found deceased. Even though this was a person I've never personally spoke to, this is still a person with strong shared interests and his own story, and someone I've watched grow from streaming to his little corner of the Internet to blossoming into one of YouTube's giants. The loss of Etika was a very personal pain.
A month later, while on vacation, I receive word that my grandfather was in the hospital, and had passed away hours after. This was my mother's last living parent, and her pain radiated through the hotel. The suit I attended his funeral in was the same outfit I went to my school's prom in. Mostly because the funeral and prom were within hours of each other.
A little over a year later, I'm reclusing to Facebook. I'm not the greatest friends with a moderator of this one group; we had a falling out months beforehand. But I see they made a post in desperation, tagging one of my only long-time Facebook friends - a dude with the same interests as me. We'll call him Steve. He was a person who looked up to me due to my many successes in those interests, and tended to ask me questions about those interests. Steve and I tended to talk for hours, even though we never knew each other in person. He even said at one point that I was one of the three people he talks to... at all.
He the only person I willfully talked to on Facebook.
Somehow... the post that moderator made was about him.
I came across this news during work. Like last time, I had to isolate myself, overrun with emotions. Cashiering in this state was impossible, and my shift was only starting. I had to be excused. The post was about fact that he was found dead in their bed after ingesting what I can only assume to be SN. Even though the moderator and I never got along, I had to offer support for her, because Steve and her apparently were in a relationship. We got into a discussion in DMs, within which she linked to this site as the last site on Steve's phone.
That's how I ended up making an account on here, in 2021.
Months after that in late 2021, I'm riding the bus, noticing this elaborate mural chalked on the sidewalk. But why does it have the name of my second-closest high-school friend? The best friend of MY closest high-school friend?
Why does it have to be him? He was finally coming out of his shell... his artwork was getting the attention of thousands... despite everything, his life was finally giving him what he deserved. But then, his life was abruptly taken away. This is the only death aside from my grandparents and my doctor that isn't suicide, but it hurts just the same.
That's a thought I only had to think about once... until 2018. Up until that point, I've never had to even fathom imagining having anyone close to me pass away. We were in high school, we're just preparing to live out the rest of our lives...
But... this kid who I used to sit next to at lunch every other day, who was also in a relationship with another friend I had, became the talk of the entire school. The discussions were bewildering; "did you hear about the kid who killed himself"? I had not the slightest idea that it could possibly be the whimsical and genuinely innocent alt-style boy that everyone loved. He used to play his music in the corner in front of the bathroom on his speaker, and before school started, when I arrived off of the bus, he ritualistically waved to me with a genuine smile every day. His partner was a gentle, small girl who shared his alternative interests. We all knew each other and were cool with each other.
But that day, his name was in everyone's mouth, for all of the wrong reasons... it must have been another person with the same name. Within seconds of putting the pieces together, with someone informing me of the reality of the situation, I was immediately detached and silent. In that same class period, I isolated myself from everyone else. For the days that followed, many people were quiet and melancholy. People were crying in class, even outside of classes he attended. Everyone knew of him. Some people were making jokes of the situation, which alone sent me into a mental fury that I never communicated outside of my own personal condemnation of those people. It sent such a ripple throughout the school, staff and students, that a group of kids organised and dedicated a tribute to him, while others ran petitions for him to be immortalised within his interests.
He was 16, and it was September. I was already going through my own issues. Come October 31st, I wake up from a two-week long coma after a pedestrian vs vehicular car accident that I was not found at fault for. I wasn't fully sentient until two weeks later, but was in an altered state of consciousness for the two weeks that followed my awakening. I didn't know what had happened to me until after the four weeks since the initial impact. I was experiencing an altered plane of reality, which I now understand to be a result of the combinations of the fact that I was out for two weeks, as well as drugs I was on probably making me absurdly high. But I was able to check my phone. There were messages from a few people, but the one that pierced itself into my reality was the one from my fallen friend's partner.
The message telling me that I need to respond, that I need to say that I'm okay. She said that can't lose someone else so quickly. In the messages that followed, I read that she had be to be sent to the hospital because she made an attempt on her own life. My own suicidality was always a personal thing. To this day, I don't know if the car accident was a suicide attempt, but I do know that this is the first time that I've felt guilt for the fact that I'm in too much pain to be alive.
There's much more I can say regarding that experience, but this thread isn't about that. In the months that followed, I lost a coworker, a person equally as innocent and troubled as the person above. This coworker switched stores, and I always told myself I'd visit him at his new location. But I found out that I could never do so once I learned that he was discovered hanging in his home after failing to report to work.
A year later, the only YouTuber I've grown attached to was involved with numerous run-ins with mental mania for weeks. Eventually, he ended up posting a goodbye video on YouTube before becoming a missing person for multiple days. This person is known for his genuine, over-the-top reactions to video game announcements. He was a person who fueled and validated my excitement for Smash Bros. and was the person through whom I've bonded with my current friend group by. For those in the back, I'm talking about Etika. Etika was such a staple within my family and friend traditions regarding our hobbies, that even my mother shed tears when the NYPD confirmed that this one-of-a-kind person was found deceased. Even though this was a person I've never personally spoke to, this is still a person with strong shared interests and his own story, and someone I've watched grow from streaming to his little corner of the Internet to blossoming into one of YouTube's giants. The loss of Etika was a very personal pain.
A month later, while on vacation, I receive word that my grandfather was in the hospital, and had passed away hours after. This was my mother's last living parent, and her pain radiated through the hotel. The suit I attended his funeral in was the same outfit I went to my school's prom in. Mostly because the funeral and prom were within hours of each other.
A little over a year later, I'm reclusing to Facebook. I'm not the greatest friends with a moderator of this one group; we had a falling out months beforehand. But I see they made a post in desperation, tagging one of my only long-time Facebook friends - a dude with the same interests as me. We'll call him Steve. He was a person who looked up to me due to my many successes in those interests, and tended to ask me questions about those interests. Steve and I tended to talk for hours, even though we never knew each other in person. He even said at one point that I was one of the three people he talks to... at all.
He the only person I willfully talked to on Facebook.
Somehow... the post that moderator made was about him.
I came across this news during work. Like last time, I had to isolate myself, overrun with emotions. Cashiering in this state was impossible, and my shift was only starting. I had to be excused. The post was about fact that he was found dead in their bed after ingesting what I can only assume to be SN. Even though the moderator and I never got along, I had to offer support for her, because Steve and her apparently were in a relationship. We got into a discussion in DMs, within which she linked to this site as the last site on Steve's phone.
That's how I ended up making an account on here, in 2021.
Months after that in late 2021, I'm riding the bus, noticing this elaborate mural chalked on the sidewalk. But why does it have the name of my second-closest high-school friend? The best friend of MY closest high-school friend?
Why does it have to be him? He was finally coming out of his shell... his artwork was getting the attention of thousands... despite everything, his life was finally giving him what he deserved. But then, his life was abruptly taken away. This is the only death aside from my grandparents and my doctor that isn't suicide, but it hurts just the same.
Between 2017 and 2021, I've bore witness to many deaths, almost all of which have been suicide. These people were either friends, were close enough to feel like friends, or family. As a result of this repeated, seemingly endless torture, I've taken on my own trauma. While not even close to being the only reason I'm suicidal, it's definitely not a footnote in the list of reasons.
Because so many people close to me started to vanish without me being able to say goodbye, an unstoppable premonition of loss fills in the back of my mind as soon as people close to me start to show signs of self-harm or ongoing, persistent mental struggles. The last friend I have that I see on a frequent basis invited me to a Christmas party with his friend's family. This post is about him.
My friend doesn't know that I'm suicidal, much less exactly how suicidal I am, nor the fact that I've been romanticising the idea of my death for about five years now. I know I'm at the end of the fucked up story known as my existence, and one of the worst experiences about the deaths I've gone through is the understanding that I'll never be able to have closure with the people I care about. I'd never be able to make amends for my mistakes or come clean with anything I've never mentioned before. Being so affected by this unfinished business for the past half-decade of my life, I wanted to make sure that my friend was able to understand and come to terms with the fact that I am suicidal, and that I can be taken away from him at any time.
I was scared to have this discussion with him. And I had the discussion in the worst fucking way humanly possible. Ever since yesterday, I've broken down in tears six separate times. Once at my home, twice at work (first time being emotionally disabled in front of my manager today!), once while shopping at the store next to the bar, and twice at the bar that I'm writing this in while uncovering forgotten memories.
He invited me to his family friend's Christmas party. I tend to avoid taking photos because I don't want people to see me in those photos in retrospect after I'm dead. I'm trying my best to be forgotten, really.
I tried my best to have fun at the party, and I think the only suspicious thing is my avoidance of photos. That's always been an aspect of me for years, but it was my first time in this family's Christmas events. They accepted me as if I was one of their own. I have nothing against them and nothing to complain about, they were the only people to make Christmas magical this year.
But I'm still suicidal. And in fact, it's getting the worst it's ever been. I've been exiled from my family, and recently am on a self-imposed exile from my online identity. The Internet's been toxic for me, and I've killed my online presence as a result. There was a Discord server that I've sent 300,000 messages in since 2016 that I've dropped cold turkey, alongside all other online activity. Mostly because my recent activity is just doomposting and allowing my desire to die affect other innocent people.
I also have put into motion actions to hasten my departure.
What was surprising was just how at peace I felt.
This wasn't something I could ignore. I don't often feel strong emotions, let alone positive ones. I haven't expressed positive emotions ever since middle school, according to my mom. Despite knowing, romanticising, and attempting suicide over the past five years, making travel plans with a partner solidified the finality of things, and I was overjoyed. I didn't expect this.
I wanted to let my friend know about this side of me. I didn't want anything to come as a surprise to him when it happens, because I know how it can feel like crashing into a brick wall once someone is just taken away from you abruptly.
He was already being yelled at by his mom for staying out longer than anticipated with her car, and I felt the need to bring the mood down in this way on Christmas day after a great event... what the fuck is wrong with me?
When someone asks how his Christmas was this year, my discussion with him is going to be the regrettable, traumatic memory he'll think of before he responds. And I was stupid enough to leave out the context that I've been suicidal for over a decade, so he thinks that I'm at acute risk right now, making matters exponentially worse. In an attempt to consider his emotions, I made the most selfish decision humanely possible.
This is the only friend I have left. He's my friend because he is innocent, and I appreciate his steadfast personality in the face of all of the strife I've seen him go through. I look up to him. I value him to a significant degree.
Why did I have to fuck it up.
Why did I have to fuck him up?
Last edited:
