I loved the new chat room on our DMs, making their interface different from the forum is practical and gives it a distinct feeling. It's interesting that now, 4 people on my DMs have already gone.
I, more frequently than I would like, keep searching for people who ctb. David Foster Wallace, Mark Fisher, Rudolf Wittgenstein, to cite a few. Of course, there is an abundance of info of people who ctbed, including my knowledge of those on my DMs. But the info of how they really thought and what they would say of their own condition is far rarer. I keep unconsciously trying to understand them... to know if they felt something akin of what I feel. The confusion, the internal struggle... the pain, the unfairness of it all... the intensity of it all. But after taking to more people than I probably should about my problems I know I could never understand them. I have talked to too much "sick people as me" to know that every personal impulse towards death, though similar in some things, is vastly unique. Which, in retrospect, is obvious. Although we are similar in superficial aspects, when you dive deeper, you start to find the incongruities. And this also ends up being not very helpful when I try to find a way to be less lost about my death when I look at them. I keep having this indecisiveness... and also this constant emptying of self due to the severe depression. I can't think straight, I can't live straight. It seems like I am always carrying weights among all my limbs. I barely can write sometimes. The last guy I spoke to said he didn't feel depressed or "disabled" by some depression, and yet he had his problems and pains. He's dead now. Again, I guess it's different for everyone. I have this desire to be understood... I wish my parents knew what I go through... I've tried to tell them, however, if even the ones here don't totally get how I feel, imagine my parents. Suicide is such a foreign concept for some people... its really interesting how some people think of it all the time and for other people, the thought never crosses their mind. Such a complex and yet personal matter. I keep asking myself "will I die ?" the answer is "yes" and yet here I am. Typing. Maybe I am already so dead inside that I can't unite the energy to kill my body... I don't know what to do anymore.
I, more frequently than I would like, keep searching for people who ctb. David Foster Wallace, Mark Fisher, Rudolf Wittgenstein, to cite a few. Of course, there is an abundance of info of people who ctbed, including my knowledge of those on my DMs. But the info of how they really thought and what they would say of their own condition is far rarer. I keep unconsciously trying to understand them... to know if they felt something akin of what I feel. The confusion, the internal struggle... the pain, the unfairness of it all... the intensity of it all. But after taking to more people than I probably should about my problems I know I could never understand them. I have talked to too much "sick people as me" to know that every personal impulse towards death, though similar in some things, is vastly unique. Which, in retrospect, is obvious. Although we are similar in superficial aspects, when you dive deeper, you start to find the incongruities. And this also ends up being not very helpful when I try to find a way to be less lost about my death when I look at them. I keep having this indecisiveness... and also this constant emptying of self due to the severe depression. I can't think straight, I can't live straight. It seems like I am always carrying weights among all my limbs. I barely can write sometimes. The last guy I spoke to said he didn't feel depressed or "disabled" by some depression, and yet he had his problems and pains. He's dead now. Again, I guess it's different for everyone. I have this desire to be understood... I wish my parents knew what I go through... I've tried to tell them, however, if even the ones here don't totally get how I feel, imagine my parents. Suicide is such a foreign concept for some people... its really interesting how some people think of it all the time and for other people, the thought never crosses their mind. Such a complex and yet personal matter. I keep asking myself "will I die ?" the answer is "yes" and yet here I am. Typing. Maybe I am already so dead inside that I can't unite the energy to kill my body... I don't know what to do anymore.
