forsaken_fallacy_12
Member
- Mar 12, 2023
- 7
it doesn't matter what you say, as nothing anyone here can possibly tell me will convince me otherwise.
i have thought this way for months ever since a panic attack-inducing double homicide of a mental breakdown and existential crisis led me to believe so. i cannot prove that anything other than my own consciousness is anything but a manifestation of my own impressions of myself, and that only through improving these impressions by some miraculous (read: impossible) means will i ever be able to escape the occurrences and people around me that exacerbate my misery. killing myself would mean that all the things that i subconsciously make happen will all cease-- not only will my own sadness end, but the hundreds of nonexistent sadnesses i have selfishly brought into this world will reach their end as well. since i no longer believe in a god or even an afterlife, really, this is a total and complete conclusion. but as i have stated in a past post, it's not like one can think about things of that caliber once they are dead.
i have, however, wanted to kill myself for ages, and as my grades get lower and lower, my attention span gets worse and worse, my parents continue to mistreat and insult me, and my friends become more and more evidently annoyed with my presence, my will to live has reached what i believe may be an all-time low. i become almost manic at school, loud and rambunctious. i speak loudly and make jokes i know even then i'll regret later. i am an attention seeker and have attachment issues, clinging to people i know dislike me from my own fear of isolation. i get bullied by other people at my school, especially one specific person i will call E who manipulated me last year, lied about me to my friends to make them hate me, and isolated me for months; i haven't spoken to E in over a year, but she has spread rumors about me that have ruined my reputation and made my life even worse of a living hell. when i get home, the regret from my acting up at school hits, and coupled with the treatment i receive from my cartoonishly self-unaware mother, i am absolutely disconsolate. my mother and i fight constantly, as i supposedly am always doing something that crosses her boundaries but she has absolutely no regard for mine. my mental health doesn't matter to her, as she has made evident on multiple occasions. there is much more to be said, but i do not think i will be able to write it all in this one post without having another breakdown.
i have been trying desperately to convince myself to live. that once i get out of my parents' house, things will get better. i'll be able to get better, and in turn the things that happen and the people around me will become happier as the way i perceive myself improves. even though nothing else is real, maybe if the things i make happen are positive, i'll be satisfied with my delusions enough to see them out to the end. no matter how hard i try, however, as i sit here and write this, it has dawned on me that life has truly, finally, and absolutely proven to only be able to get worse and worse; periods are improvement are possible, but their evanescence is blinding and deafening, impossible to ignore when observed. i simply cannot handle it anymore, and death is the only possible solution.
i can't think of anything else to add, as i am rather stupid, so i'll conclude this here. thank you for reading what i have to say, and i hope that it has found you well.
i have thought this way for months ever since a panic attack-inducing double homicide of a mental breakdown and existential crisis led me to believe so. i cannot prove that anything other than my own consciousness is anything but a manifestation of my own impressions of myself, and that only through improving these impressions by some miraculous (read: impossible) means will i ever be able to escape the occurrences and people around me that exacerbate my misery. killing myself would mean that all the things that i subconsciously make happen will all cease-- not only will my own sadness end, but the hundreds of nonexistent sadnesses i have selfishly brought into this world will reach their end as well. since i no longer believe in a god or even an afterlife, really, this is a total and complete conclusion. but as i have stated in a past post, it's not like one can think about things of that caliber once they are dead.
i have, however, wanted to kill myself for ages, and as my grades get lower and lower, my attention span gets worse and worse, my parents continue to mistreat and insult me, and my friends become more and more evidently annoyed with my presence, my will to live has reached what i believe may be an all-time low. i become almost manic at school, loud and rambunctious. i speak loudly and make jokes i know even then i'll regret later. i am an attention seeker and have attachment issues, clinging to people i know dislike me from my own fear of isolation. i get bullied by other people at my school, especially one specific person i will call E who manipulated me last year, lied about me to my friends to make them hate me, and isolated me for months; i haven't spoken to E in over a year, but she has spread rumors about me that have ruined my reputation and made my life even worse of a living hell. when i get home, the regret from my acting up at school hits, and coupled with the treatment i receive from my cartoonishly self-unaware mother, i am absolutely disconsolate. my mother and i fight constantly, as i supposedly am always doing something that crosses her boundaries but she has absolutely no regard for mine. my mental health doesn't matter to her, as she has made evident on multiple occasions. there is much more to be said, but i do not think i will be able to write it all in this one post without having another breakdown.
i have been trying desperately to convince myself to live. that once i get out of my parents' house, things will get better. i'll be able to get better, and in turn the things that happen and the people around me will become happier as the way i perceive myself improves. even though nothing else is real, maybe if the things i make happen are positive, i'll be satisfied with my delusions enough to see them out to the end. no matter how hard i try, however, as i sit here and write this, it has dawned on me that life has truly, finally, and absolutely proven to only be able to get worse and worse; periods are improvement are possible, but their evanescence is blinding and deafening, impossible to ignore when observed. i simply cannot handle it anymore, and death is the only possible solution.
i can't think of anything else to add, as i am rather stupid, so i'll conclude this here. thank you for reading what i have to say, and i hope that it has found you well.
