Still here

[Egddios]

This may turn into an epic vent; if you're willing to read on, bare with me. I'm hurting, but grateful a place like this exists for us. To speak, to write, to share our experiences, the solidarity - it means a lot to me, in a world where things are becoming increasingly more meaningless. That's part of my sadness, I guess. I feel at times I've been robbed of hope over and over. I think of fairness and of all us - all over the world, united in this desire for relief.

I deactivated my Reddit account this morning, which for me, was somewhat of an important or pivotal moment. I joined Reddit in 2013, shortly after my first suicide attempt and until recently, it had been a place to discuss not only right to die, but my struggles with PTSD, MDD and meet others who helped me realize I'm not a total piece of shit person. Reddit meant a lot to me, but the censorship has been so sweeping, I no longer have the desire to be a part of that "community". I don't think Reddit really wants "our kind", so to speak. Which, is a bummer. A defeat in a sense, but here I am. Still.

I'd purchased Nembutal about 2 years ago as an insurance policy of sorts, so if shit got extra dicey and I truly had no where to go or no support, I could at least end my life in a humane way. Had to stash it secretly of course, and I have. Many times I've read of people wanting Nembutal so badly, and I'd feel this pang of guilt - why should I have access and other people have to hang themselves or jump or shoot their heads clear off. I've thought, if I could, I'd give my stash to someone in more need than me, and I'd take the jump instead. Or the shot. Or throw myself under the wheels of a truck. Something.

I'm 35, I'm finally living on my own in an apartment safe from the daily emotional abuse of my father. It dawned on me recently, this is the first time in my life I'm living in a place where my muscles aren't coiled and tense, ready to split if the door burst open, to be berated and made to feel like garbage. It's difficult to be in calm now. I almost can't handle it. I have nightmares and difficulty eating. I find it tough to trust people (in my life I've been raped, physically abused, etc.). I was going to end my life with the Nembutal yesterday, but instead chose to linger in bed and stay safe under the covers and try to hold on. My partner is out of state at the moment and I'm unfamiliar with relying on anyone, as most people in my life I have relied on failed to protect me, or abused me themselves.

I did call him today though. I told him I was ending it tonight and I love him, and I didn't want him showing up to a circus here. I think suicide is often a reflection of the environment we're in. I read recently of 2 sisters who ended their lives together in New York. They didn't want to return to their country of origin, and I suspect they were abused for years and they decided better to end it together at least, than be forced to endure more, be returned to their country, etc. Their bodies were found duct taped together in the Hudson river.

I used to think, ok if I can just GET OUT, get myself into a safe place, any place, that's all I need. I didn't plan for or prepare for how to deal with living without the constant threat of violence. I'm so used to being smacked down, verbally or physically. And I'm so tired now. My partner and I were talking of this earlier (I'm grateful we're able to talk openly, however painful), and he asked me what he should do? If I'm gone, then what? And it's a beautiful thing, when you love someone and live for that hope, of things working out, maybe having a family, whatever it is. It broke my heart when he asked me that, and I won't tell him to end his life too. I believe so much in him, and I get so frustrated to struggle and feel so low, knowing he loves me so much. I want to hold on but it's so fucking hard.

By a thread at this point, you know?

So, I hang on still.

Thanks for reading, thanks for being here for me, and others all around this world who are hurting.

 

[TiredHorse]

I'm finally living on my own in an apartment safe from the daily emotional abuse of my father. It dawned on me recently, this is the first time in my life I'm living in a place where my muscles aren't coiled and tense, ready to split if the door burst open, to be berated and made to feel like garbage. It's difficult to be in calm now. I almost can't handle it. I have nightmares and difficulty eating. I find it tough to trust people (in my life I've been raped, physically abused, etc.).

In some ways, it's worse when the pressure comes off.

I will not get all pro-lifey and tell you to keep hanging on if you know it's time to go, but I will offer you a short story from my life:

I was bullied and despised as a freak all through elementary school and middle school. My father was a rat-bastard to live with. My sophomore year I was fortunate to end up in a boarding school, away from my parents, away from the well-known bullies. I expected more of the same, just in a new place --but to my shock, people were kind to me. For the first time in my life, I had people who seemed like friends. The school wasn't a snooty, image-conscious torture chamber, and me being freakish me didn't bring the rest of the class down on me like a ton of bricks. I had fun classes, and was around pleasant people, and while there was the usual spectrum of people I didn't get along with, no one hated my guts enough to pee in my jacket or steal my books or put superglue on my chair to glue me to my seat or simply pummel me between classes.

I had found my place. I could breathe. I still had nightmares, but they started to feel more like nightmares and less like reflections of life. And about a week after Christmas break, around midnight, with the rest of the dorm asleep, I sat down in the shower and opened my wrists.

More accurately, I tried to open my wrists. I utterly botched the job, and just sat there for a while watching the blood trickle out and spiral down the drain, thinking, "ouch; this sucks." After it became obvious it wasn't going to work, I got up, toweled off, patched myself up, and wore long sleeves for the next term.

Something about the pressure coming off made life unbearable. I don't know what, but it pushed me over the edge. However, after that shot at ctb, life slowly got better. By the end of the school year, I was remarkably stable in the knowledge that life wasn't complete shit, and the next two years at that school were real joy. It has faded since --obviously, since I'm here!-- but there were a lot of good years in there immediately after high school. I've fucked it all up right proper since, but I can't blame my current state on what I experienced then.

I guess what I'm saying is that if you can hang on, now that you've got your own place and the pressure is off, you might be able to find a way to not feel like you need to ctb. If you can't, I get it --I think everyone here gets it-- but if you're experiencing anything like I did --emotional decompression sickness?-- there's a chance things might be looking up.

Good luck, Egddios. Whatever path you choose.