NSFW Waiting for death is excruciating, but I'm too afraid/cowardly to CTB by my own hand.

[Imaginos]

Hello. I tried reaching out over on the TTG subreddit not too long ago, but, sadly, my post got removed. I lurked SS & TSS for quite a while, but never managed to work up the nerve to post anything. Figures that I'd pick the worst possible time to finally say something over there, given all that's happened recently on Reddit. Anyhow, I attempted to edit out whatever I'd written that would warrant such action from the mods, but censoring myself on account of their dumb rules really ticked me off so, in the end, I just thought, "Forget it. It's not worth the effort". Not to mention, a couple of what few replies I got were just some SW-esque users offering me self-help malarkey, when I never even asked for any. That kinda bugged me as well. Afterwards, I checked if there were any alternatives out there and saw this place listed in the "Back-up" section and so here I am. I hope no one minds if I repost my original, unedited spiel here. My apologies if that sort of thing is frowned upon. If so, please don't hesitate to remove it. It's ok, since what I have to say probably isn't worth uttering to anyone else, anyway. I don't really know why I'm trying to reach out again, since I know I really shouldn't. It takes a lot of effort for me to write practically anything (even scribbling out this short paragraph has me pretty much exhausted at this point), plus reading/responding can be very anxiety inducing for me, so, ultimately, socializing online has been, and continues to be, a complete impossibility. Maybe all I'm good for is monologuing about my own bullshit. I'll try to reply if I can, assuming it's all ok. Well, here it goes.

I've been an urban hermit for going on almost 11 years now. I'm essentially the very definition of a hikikomori, if you wanted to be more specific. I have no, nor have I ever, had any attachments to anyone or anything in the outside world. Never had any friends. Never had desires or dreams for anything else. Never wanted to be anything more than what I was, or currently am. All I ever sought in life is right here, in this dusty old room. Isolation. To be as withdrawn and insulated from everything else as much as I possibly could be. If I could somehow withdraw further, I would in an instant. As it is, I'm quite grateful I've managed to opt out of much of this madness we call existence. And yes, I suppose I should mention that I do appreciate how my parents have accommodated me thus far, despite them being the ones responsible for my being here in the first place (I hold them no grudges though, what's done is done). Although, it bears mentioning that they're certainly no barrier to me killing myself. At. All. Since, after all, I'd be dead so what difference would it make how they'd feel given that I wouldn't even exist anymore? I don't mean to sound cold or cruel or vicious when I say that, but it's not like I can really control how they'd feel and sticking around for their sake alone, despite being in agony, would be foolish. If you feel differently that's fine, but I don't.

Regardless, they're really quite understanding as far as parents go. My mother, in particular, is probably the closet thing I could call to a friend at this point. To put it simply, she just gets me. My need for isolation. The insanity of the world. The absurdity of life itself. Even my wish to end my own life. That's not to say she doesn't get on my nerves sometimes, but who doesn't? In many ways, for lack of a better comparison, she's like a cross between Camus, Bill Hicks, an annoying New-Age hippy and TSS all rolled into one. Although, that slot she's in was also formerly shared by our cat Simba, but he died a couple years back. He was born right here in this house when I was just a kid and it wasn't until 19 1/2 years later that he finally left us. All I can say, is that I didn't deserve the love he gave me. Not one bit.

These days I don't say much. Weeks & weeks fly by and, outside of the usual sigh, I barely make a sound. I only really speak unless I have to such as in, "Can I please use the bathroom when you're finished?" or "I'm fine thanks." when asked if I need anything. I used to go on walks with my mom, but it's been almost a year since I've done anything like that. Hell, I won't even go for a drive with her. I don't have my license, but it's not like it would matter if I did. I refuse to go out on my own, since the anxiety would be too much to handle. As it is, I haven't left the house at all in many, many months. Not that that's very unusual for me, mind you. In just these past 10 1/2 years since becoming a fully fledged hermit, I think it'd be fairly safe to say that my total time spent outside (including time spent in a vehicle) is almost certainly less than 100-150 hours. Over the years, I'd usually get out for a bit, such as for a couple walks late at night with my mom or, if the case may be, for a dentist appointment or something, before returning to another couple months without leaving the house. Rinse, repeat essentially. To be honest, I don't really want to leave the house, nor do I really want to do anything else that would involve going outside either. I just wish being here, in my own skin, was easier.

I barely have the energy to engage in anything anymore. Conversation, video games, books, movies/TV. Nothing. I just refresh a few web pages, sleep as much as I possibly can (8 hours a day and about 10 at night as the old Bill Hicks joke goes), masturbate, cut myself when the mood strikes me, and daydream about my suicide (something I've done quite a lot of throughout the years). The thought of doing anything else makes me downright nauseous. As an example, for the longest time I've tried to "force" myself to play video games, the way one would force an unruly child to eat their peas & brussel sprouts. I really don't know why I do this. I've really grown to resent the entire thing as a result, unfortunately. It's just that when I'm laying there for so many hours, too restless to sleep and too tense to relax for even a moment, all while staring up at the ceiling, or at the wall in front of me, or the lamp beside me, or the thick curtains covering the window, all together it's like having a lead apron of the most intense tension/boredom you'd never want to even imagine, let alone experience, wrapped around your head & your heart like a sadistic boa constrictor and it just keeps tightening and tightening and tightening crushing you completely until finally you just want to somehow tear your soul out just so you can finally be free. Forcing myself to play a game, or to jerk off, in that situation becomes an act of desperation, like leaping from a pot of searing acid to a pot of molten lava. The tragedy is that it never truly helps.

Really all I can ever seem to think in those excruciating moments that slowly, painfully, relentlessly drag themselves throughout all the days of my life is what in fucking hell is it gonna take for me to finally kill myself. I know about DNMs, and I know how to use them. I could get some Nembutal or Fentanyl, or hell, maybe even a fucking shotgun without too much hassle whatsoever. But I won't. I could very easily just put my head down on the active railroad tracks not, but a quick stroll away from here and patiently wait for a train. But I won't. I could also slash my wrists, something I do enough of anyway, and let that be that. But I won't And why, you may ask? Because I'm afraid. That's it. That's ultimately all that's holding me back. I'm just a cowering sack of shit who's too afraid of the dark. Of being alone in an endless void, screaming into an infinite blackness forever. The terrifying potential of the unknown, when I really sit there and think about it and what form it may take, fills me with dread and paralyzes me completely. Whether it was pills, or a gun, or a train, or even a common razor, there would always be that moment where one stands at the precipice between life and death (pills in hand ready to be swallowed, loaded gun in mouth with finger on the trigger, train barreling down the tracks towards you etc.) and that precipice yawns in front of me like the Marianas Trench. So much so that I recoil, like the ego, DNA, biological programming and just good old fashioned cowardice want me to. Only to endure more of the same. To suffer & suffer & suffer only to inevitably die someday anyway. I don't want to suffer anymore. It doesn't make any sense to wait for, let alone to fear, something that's going to happen whether my stupid reptilian brain wants it to or not. The thought of the jagged, tortuous nature of life pricking and pulling at my flesh for years more to come like the spiky, rust covered maul of a mace being slowly and carefully dragged over my decayed self rending what happens to be left of me with each new pass, with the pain only exceeding, with my body and mind continuing to disintegrate adding to the already present agony, of knowing that it's all a prison of my own making and that the exit is right in front of me if only I had the strength to step through and let go of my fear. I just wish the jailor weren't so formidable, as it squats blind and unaware acting only on base instinct in the strands of nucleic acid that make up the pitiful creature I'm forced to see staring back at me whenever I happen to catch a glimpse of my reflection.

(Continued below.....)

 

[Imaginos]

I suppose the simple answer is to all the blither blather I just vomited out, is to just get drunk beforehand, or to otherwise inebriate myself in preparation for the act, thereby dulling the survival instinct/fear response enough so I can carry on with ending my life. And that might work for someone else, someone I desperately wish I could be, but, in the end, I just see that as shifting the precipice post, as it were. Instead of the precipice post being your finger on the trigger, it's the bottle of Jack Daniels, or whatever, in your hand. It's the implicit knowledge that "This is it. This is how it ends. No turning back after this." and I'd be faced with the same infuriating predicament. One of the only hopes I have is that a complete & total catastrophe (like losing my parents, for instance) might tip the odds just enough in my favor to finally end it. It's so horrible and I don't want to have to experience that living nightmare, but I just don't know what else it'd take. I've at least found self-harm to be somewhat effective at desensitizing myself to the idea of slicing my veins open vertically someday. Like building up muscle memory almost. I've also often envisioned that, if I had a gun, on how I could sit with in my mouth unloaded (at first) and pull the trigger over and over again just so I can build up the muscle action. Eventually I could put one bullet in just to get used to the idea of it being loaded and then go from there. I've always hoped that might be the ticket for me, but I'm probably kidding myself. Maybe it'll take a combination of everything I've mentioned. I don't know.

The real answer though, is that there is no answer for someone like me. Not really. Often my most common fantasies in regards to suicide have been those in which my death happens suddenly and without my knowledge. Examples being the more common variety such as dying unexpectedly in my sleep somehow, or, in my case, more fantastically remote possibilities like a meteorite streaming through the atmosphere and blasting me through the head from the ceiling. Hell, maybe I'll be fortunate enough to have that happen to me as I'm sitting here typing this. Hmm, no such luck. I've also fantasized about being struck with a life ending illness, a fate which I hope might not be so far off for me given the poor health I happen to have given my "life style". I've often wished I could take the terminal disease of someone who still wants to live. After all, they get what they want, I get what I want, and I get to really help somebody for once in my life just before I head out the door. What's not to like? Besides the impending doom/pain associated with the disease, of course. I've also fantasized a lot about somebody else killing me, thereby saving me from having to do it myself. A home invader, a trigger happy cop, a professional assassin hired to kill me when I'm not looking, or even some make believe person who hates me enough to want to kill me for whatever reason (I looked at them the wrong way, or something). In the end, the pattern between all these fantasies is pretty clear to see. That my "suicide" is carried out by someone, or something else, so I don't have to trouble myself with getting past all that nasty existential terror junk. Expecting someone, or something else, having to lug my ass to the finish line, really is so typical of me. Can't be bothered to muster the internal fortitude to do it myself, so I'll let something else do it for me. Weakling right up until the end.

The final horror, the final nightmare for me to consider, besides eternity in a black void, is that I'll never commit suicide. Not because I don't want to, because boy do I. But that my fear will always keep me meekly slithering along, soaking up the body blows of life until I just can't anymore. Probably as I wheeze my last breath away as a decrepit old man covered in wounds both internal and external that could've all been avoided had I just....just....oh well, too late now (cut to flat lining heart monitor)

I know it's a common sentiment around here, but I'm just tired. The kind of tired that no amount of sleep can fix. The kind of tired that's been deep in my bones since the day I was born. The kind of tired that drove me to where I am right now. There's nothing to do, nowhere to go, nothing to be & no one to know. All of what I've ever been, or currently am, can be summed up in that last sentence, courtesy of Ligotti.

Writing this out felt good at least. Being trapped in my own mind the way I have been for so long now can really....really. Christ, I don't know what else to say. I mean, how many more ways can I say it? It fucking sucks man. It really fucking sucks.

I can already feel whatever compelled me to scribble this crap slipping away. I wish I could write regularly. Almost as much as I wish for the end to come. But it's so hard. It's so damn hard. And I'm so afraid. I just wish I could always find the words to say what I really mean. They seem to appear in front of me for a short time and the urge to write becomes unbearable only for it to all too soon vanish as I'm left scrounging in the proverbial dirt trying to find them again. The effort required just becomes too much. Then again, maybe if I didn't feel the need to write a fucking book every time I want to make a post it'd be easier. That's a lie, but I'd like for it to be true. Nothing I have to say is worth uttering to anyone. I'm hopeless. I guess I'll have a nap now.

TL:DR Ultimately, I'm really just tired of life in general and, arguably, have been since the day I was born. I don't know if it came across this way, but, for me, I vastly prefer the life of a hermit, since it limits my exposure to many of life's horrors to a fair degree. However, the pain of existence is still palpable no matter what it is I do. I mean I doubt I'd feel any differently under other circumstances. After all, life is what it is and wherever I'd go there I'd be, hermit or not. Life is built on deprivation, suffering, and boredom. There's no escape from such fundamental aspects to our existence while being alive. Although, being a hermit does lessen a lot of them to a degree. At the end of the day, I'm just allergic to being alive. As a result, I try to sleep it off as much as I can. Not that it helps since one always has to wake up in the end, despite desperately hoping for the opposite to occur. I just want it to end man, but the survival instinct combined with the fear of the unknown is a bitch to get past.

 

[Imaginos]

I'd also like to post a reply I wrote in my original thread on TTG to one of the only posters that made reaching out there worthwhile that I think is worth sharing here as well. Hope that's ok.

>When describing your current life, it sounds very similar to someone who is in solitary confinement. Is that how it feels?

I've thought of it that way sometimes, yeah. It's interesting how when I hear accounts from those who've spent months, or even years as the case may be, in solitary, on just how much I can relate to a lot of what they've struggled with, despite the circumstances that caused their ordeal being for vastly different reasons than how I would describe mine. After all, my confinement is voluntary, theirs wasn't. I've embraced mine, yet theirs was thrust upon them. For me it's an escape, for them the opposite was/is true. A prison becomes the perfect home if you have the key, as George Sterling once so insightfully pointed out before eventually doing the very thing I seem to find myself endlessly pining for.

>You are drawn to the silence and solitude yet it sounds like it is also causing you pain?

It does, but it's not that exactly. To once more pull a phrase from Ligotti, it's this malignant uselessness of life that I feel especially tortures me. It's the real man, or thing, behind the curtain. Pulling levers and yanking cords and turning wheels that all have their own names (boredom, restlessness, tension etc.) but in the end aren't so much the source as the individual quills. I don't want to engage in any of it, life I mean. But of course I do, I do it just by sitting here typing this. I wish it weren't so. Being a shut-in has been the best way to accomplish any sort of distance from all this. It's so much more than just a simple decision to opt out of it all, though. I was born with an almost reflexive, revulsion to life. My parents babied me sure, but I was never bullied. I was never mistreated. I never suffered any trauma whatsoever. Yet still, all I ever wanted since I was a small child was this. Not a protective shell per se, but the ability to say a resounding no to life through a protest of inaction. Again though, it's so much deeper. It's woven into me. Life is bad, so don't play its game (which could ultimately be accomplished by just killing myself, which, needless to say, is something I desperately want more than anything else). The discomfort comes from what I've described and life itself abrasively rubbing up against it morning, noon & night. I don't know if you've ever watched The Sunset Limited, but I really do feel like the personification of Mr. White in as much as I can determine it. His description of the how the forms he sees have been slowly emptied out and that they no longer have any content or substance and that, ultimately, it's mere human delusion that gives them any in the first place, lies smack dab at the heart of whatever it is that I am. Like him, I've felt this all my life, along with the resignation, rage and pain that comes with it.

This damn machine I'm in, though. This meat based container that I'm trapped in. It wasn't designed to do what it is that I do, or not to do in this case. To sit still, to refuse to participate, to abstain. The DNA molecule itself is a sadist and we're all programmed to play its pointless little game. Denying that programming brings pain, unfortunately. So, here I am. Sealed up and buried alive in a coffin of my own flesh that keeps me breathing in agony because that's what it was built to do. I feel like a puppet who being tugged to keep dancing against its will by a blind, deaf and dumb puppeteer.

I don't know if any of this is making any sense. I hope it does. I'm sorry if it comes off as nonsense, what with my bullshit descriptions and everything. It's really hard to focus. I'm like Sisyphus himself expect my boulder is comprised of just basic concentration/willpower, but requires a near Olympian effort to push even an inch. I'll try to respond, but....don't be surprised if I don't.

It's hard to believe all the crap I've blurted out could have a positive impact on anyone, but I'm glad it did. It's just that, deep down, I know I'm not a very good person. To be honest, I actually take an enormous amount of comfort in the fact that, besides my aforementioned parents, no one else has had to suffer my wretched presence. I mean, I'm as close to a walking corpse as you can get. What kind of use is that to anyone? Quite the opposite, it's a burden and it'd be criminal to impose it on anyone. I'm miasma in its purest and most toxic form. If I've done anything right in this life it's been not allowing a single solitary soul to get anywhere near me. Partly out of my own fear and paranoia, yes, but more than that, to spare them the hassle and disappointment of realizing what a worthless human stain I am and that they were better off not stepping into, with both parties worse off than they were before. Nothing would ever be worth the trouble, as to condemn another person like that. But that's all life is in the end, if you engage in it even a little. Even this feels like crossing that line. Again my mind goes back to Ligotti, to perfectly encapsulate what I could never hope to find the words to say myself.

Ligotti: And it's the same old lesson: everything in this life—I repeat, everything—is more trouble than it's worth. And simply being alive is the basic trouble.

Anyway, once more, I've run out of things to say. My head feels stuffed up with crap, and the rest of me is drenched in frustration, numbness, depression, pain (etc. etc.) Guess I should have taken your advice, but I wanted to try and explain myself better even if, in the end, I failed in doing so. No one's fault, but mine.

Link to thread: https://www.reddit.com/r/TimeToGo/comments/89x09y/first_post_here_always_wanted_to_post_on_the/

 

[Sonnenblume]

To make a long story short...I was a hiki for a little over 2 years after getting out of an abusive relationship. Didn't talk to anyone. Finally recovered from that and got my shit together but now I am very physically unwell and have isolated myself again because no one respects my right to die so people are just a liability at this point. I haven't talked to anyone in 2 months now.

 

[alien]

If you stay up for a few days then you can fall asleep on the road or on train tracks, you will be too tired to move, that's one way that removes the final step

 

[millefeui]

I went full hikikomori (not sure if the term applies since I don't live in Japan, though I am a descendant... So... I guess?) for about three to four years. I only stopped because I was forced to seek therapy and for a while, it "helped", but I am mostly back to being home for about 150 hours a week, at least. I only go out for my drawing classes and to buy stuff in the market once in a while.

I honestly don't see that changing. I will never be one of those people who goes to parties and is only really home to sleep. I am too broken and messed up, plus I am getting older. I will be 30 in just a few years. Meh. Whatever, really.

 

[ChizuruN]

Thank you for writing this out.
"I hope this makes sense" It does indeed, to me at least.

I'm currently in schooling. If I weren't currently in education, my parents would certainly kick me out.
I've wanted nothing more than to isolate myself completely, but as it currently stands, that is not achievable.
I have no desire to go out into the world and do "people" things. Perhaps the closest I would get if I lived in this kind of state would be heading to gamestop to pick up a game.
I really do just want to spend the rest of my life until I can finally die in a comfortable, non-stressful environment.

 

[Imaginos]

If you stay up for a few days then you can fall asleep on the road or on train tracks, you will be too tired to move, that's one way that removes the final step

Thanks. I never considered that before, actually. I really do think that maybe it'd even work for me. I'd like to hope so, anyway. Although, as pathetic as it sounds, even the choice to deny myself sleep in preparation for the act still feels like too much of an impassable precipice post. I really don't understand what's wrong with me. I want to leave, but I'm just so weak. I feel like I'm stuck in a bear trap. Every time I consider trying to remove the thing, the icy teeth just dig themselves deeper & deeper into me, gorging on my pain and my lack of strength to do anything about it. All I can ever manage to do is lay back and grit my teeth, while desperately praying for the courage to finally release myself. Dangling from a snare like a frightened rabbit. It's all so tiresome.

This is nothing new, obviously. Just look at Hamlet. His famous soliloquy is really all there is to say on the matter. In regards to a potential afterlife, his awareness of death and his fear of what MIGHT come next paralyzes him into inaction. Despite life itself being beyond remedy/excruciatingly painful, he continues to endure it and all for the fear of something worse after death. He's a coward, basically, and so am I.

To die, to sleep--
No more--and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep--
To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprise of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.

My mother understands me, at least. In fact, she wants to leave this awfulness all behind just as much as I do, since she's explicitly said as much on a couple of occasions and genuinely meant it. She's afraid too though, so unfortunately we have that in common. Unlike me though, she's still clinging to life, in a sense. Wants to find true love and all that, since she and my father have been unhappily married ever since the beginning. Me and my brother chained them together, essentially. By and large however, I think she'd jump at the opportunity to check out if, like me, she could be spared the fear of the unknown. As it is, we both just exist out of fear and, as Hamlet said, bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of.

Of course it's all bullshit since we all die, anyway. Good or bad, you're going there, whether you want to or not. Assuming there even is a "there" which, rationally speaking, there isn't. I just wish knowing that made the difference, but alas. Too afraid. Too scared of what might be, when I already know there's nothing. Like a dreamless sleep. But, what if it isn't? The one gnawing, thought that keeps me glued here. *sigh* What a silly thing to grapple with.

Anyway, I really do appreciate the replies. Sorry it's so hard to respond. It's interesting to see others who are, or have been, shut-ins like me. Didn't expect there would be, to be honest. How do you edit posts, by the way? Can't seem to edit my first one for whatever reason.

 

[Sonnenblume]

What kind of afterlife are you afraid of? What would cause such an afterlife to exist? We are material animals, one body and one brain. When our brain dies there is no reason to think there is anything further. If it scares you that bad though, maybe try to trick yourself? pretend like you're just going to sleep. I mean you aren't conscious of existing during deep sleep either but we don't fear that, It's basically the same thing.

Across from the like and reply buttons on your posts is the edit button, but you can only edit up to 6 hours past when you originally posted.

 

[Imaginos]

What kind of afterlife are you afraid of? What would cause such an afterlife to exist?

My consciousness being trapped in a black void for an infinite amount of time. Think Stephen King's "Jaunt" or Junji Ito's "The Long Dream". As far as to the why I fear this might happen, I really don't know. One concrete reason might come down to the fact that I once heard somewhere that in the moment you die wherever you think, or believe, you're going to go is where you go. If you believe you're going to some kind of hell, then that's where you go. Vice versa, for anything pleasant. As someone with OCD, that's always terrified me. It's like the whole "Don't think of a pink elephant!" thing times infinity. Literally. As to the plausibility of this occurring, perhaps the mind can stretch the very instant of your death to something approaching infinity, thereby allowing some kind of "afterlife" to occur which would be dictated by one's thoughts at the time. There's absolutely no evidence to support anything like this even being possible, but still. Maybe we're in a computer simulation that's designed to torture me alone and upon my death the sadistic creator of this simulation will start it all over (eternal return style), or find some other way to torment my consciousness. And yes, I know it's all totally irrational to believe any of this. Ludicrous, in fact. It doesn't change anything, I'm afraid. Plus, humans know so little of existence as a whole. I mean, who knows what forces could be at play that science hasn't discovered yet? We're like a myopic bug on the surface of a deep & vast ocean declaring it knows all the fundamentals to existence, while being totally oblivious to all that which is currently unobservable to it. Based on the current evidence however, there's nothing that could suggest anything else, but still. The fear is still there.

When our brain dies there is no reason to think there is anything further. If it scares you that bad though, maybe try to trick yourself? pretend like you're just going to sleep. I mean you aren't conscious of existing during deep sleep either but we don't fear that, It's basically the same thing.

Yes, I know. The closest analog to nonexistence is a dreamless sleep, as I previously said. We're machines and death is the off switch. When you turn your computer off does it go to some kind of computer afterlife? No and it'd be silly to think so. In my case, it's like my body wants me to be afraid, when there's no reason to be. Almost as if it's the ego's self-defense mechanism to keep persisting, which it more than likely is as an evolved trait for all life, just stronger in my case. I don't know. I also feel like my weakness as an individual has more to do with my inability to commit suicide than anything else. How does a machine like me deny their most fundamental programming without any strong genetics in regards to willpower? Only when the pain becomes great enough, and the situation desperate enough it seems. I guess everybody's threshold is different. Why does mine have to be so formidable?

but you can only edit up to 6 hours past when you originally posted.

Oh, well that explains it. Thanks. Why, though?

 

[Sonnenblume]

@Imaginos I see and understand. I had a friend who is staunch atheist yet still fears hell if she commits suicide, even though she knows it's entirely irrational. The mind will do almost anything to keep you in the game. It took me a while to get past that the fear of no longer being as well. Wish I had better advice, sorry.

I don't know why there's a 6 hour time limit, you'll have to ask the Admin or a Mod.

 

[millefeui]

What kind of afterlife are you afraid of? What would cause such an afterlife to exist? We are material animals, one body and one brain. When our brain dies there is no reason to think there is anything further. If it scares you that bad though, maybe try to trick yourself? pretend like you're just going to sleep. I mean you aren't conscious of existing during deep sleep either but we don't fear that, It's basically the same thing.

Across from the like and reply buttons on your posts is the edit button, but you can only edit up to 6 hours past when you originally posted.

Those are just assumptions. You haven't died, you don't know if something comes next or not.

 

[Sonnenblume]

Those are just assumptions. You haven't died, you don't know if something comes next or not.

There's no more reason to think there's an afterlife than to think they're invisible unicorns flying around my room. I technically can't prove that they aren't there but I can logically deduce it's highly unlikely, beyond a reasonable doubt.

 

[Fylobatica]

Personality, memories and the sense of self heavily rely on a functional brain structure. Once we're gone and it's disrupted, it's over.
Also, it would be kind of weird/useless trying to postulate an afterlife for those who have died at an extremely early age in life (i.e. newborn babies) or with an already compromised brain (anencephalous babies)

 

[Malice1]

Like you op i have this irrational fear of death. Even if my conciousness survives death somehow, i will travel the universe blind, deaf, and dumb. I know its most likely nothing but in the back of my head im thinking just what if i get tortured by a group of sadist in an afterlife or get reincarnated in a slaughterhouse. As unlikely as that is, its still a concern of mines.

 

[Imaginos]

@Imaginos The mind will do almost anything to keep you in the game. It took me a while to get past that the fear of no longer being as well. Wish I had better advice, sorry.

That it will. Again though, it's not all fear of the unknown. At the end of the day, I'm just a very weak, lazy & inept individual. Having to end my own life feels like such a hassle. Like a skeleton trying to lift some heavy weights. Me being murdered would be like winning the lottery.

Personality, memories and the sense of self heavily rely on a functional brain structure. Once we're gone and it's disrupted, it's over.
Also, it would be kind of weird/useless trying to postulate an afterlife for those who have died at an extremely early age in life (i.e. newborn babies) or with an already compromised brain (anencephalous babies)

Yep. From what we currently know, you're 100% correct. We're machines, bound by our physical bodies, with the brain at the seat of everything we think we are or believe. Once it dies, that's it. Like flicking off a light switch. I just wish knowing that made a difference if push ever comes to shove.

 

[0000000000000]

I'm sorry if there are mistakes, I don't have a good level of English.

It is almost as if you have described part of the life I have, how I experience this existence and what I think/feel about it. For most of my time on this planet, my day to day has been going from home to school with very occasional trips to other places.

I had a pretty rough time for multiple years at school and home due to domestic violence and bullying. Although There is still a bit of a tense atmosphere in my house.

Currently I have been living a stricter hikikomori lifestyle for almost 5 years.

In my case, what i fear is the pain that I may experience during process of CTB and that I may come out alive in a worse state, in addition to the fact that I barely have mental energy to carry it out and almost all the time I feel anxious, also i do not have privacy to do it.

This existence is truly exhausting.