PlutonianRooster
Member
- Dec 16, 2024
- 16
I'm half-heartedly 'planning' to kill myself.
On a day in April last year, I set a reminder on my phone for the same day this year, telling myself I'd seriously consider leaving this life if it didn't get better by then. It's gotten much worse since, and I still have a few months to go.
My 'plan' is to attend my younger sibling's high school graduation, and then die before I graduate university a month or so later. I put it in apostrophes because I haven't gotten necessary materials or my notes together, or done anything at all, really, besides constantly retreat into imagining suicide to blunt my suffering. Even though my instinct to do it has considerably strengthened, I'll almost certainly pussy out of it, like I do with everything. There are too many 'checkpoints' to pass before I even get to the big decision itself. (Hell, I can't even make mundane decisions. I've procrastinated on buying a water bottle for two years because I keep overthinking which one to get, and because I don't like spending money unnecessarily.)
But I can't see a future past then. I'm tired, and all that's more unrelenting than the pain is the world spinning along, leaving me further and further behind. It just gets worse. I don't want to fight anymore.
But when I think 'these are my last few months alive', I feel... very small, for a lack of better words. Like a scared child that just wants to cling onto mom or dad until they make things better.
(I lean towards believing in NDEs - and what they have in common, such as a loving afterlife, multiple lives, and connectedness to loved ones beyond only this life. Surely, I shouldn't be so afraid, believing that it won't be my last time on Earth. Survival instinct is a powerful thing, I suppose.)
In general, I feel as though the accumulated mental pain has made me 'degrade'. I feel less and less like I ever grew up into a collected human being (never felt like it to begin with). Pain unravels my mind until nothing but the childlike fear at the center is left, and I spend hours every day curled up in bed with it, until I can loosely tie the threads of myself back together. It adds a layer of shame to the suffering, being so helpless and weepy.
To sum it up, I guess, being alone takes its toll.
On a day in April last year, I set a reminder on my phone for the same day this year, telling myself I'd seriously consider leaving this life if it didn't get better by then. It's gotten much worse since, and I still have a few months to go.
My 'plan' is to attend my younger sibling's high school graduation, and then die before I graduate university a month or so later. I put it in apostrophes because I haven't gotten necessary materials or my notes together, or done anything at all, really, besides constantly retreat into imagining suicide to blunt my suffering. Even though my instinct to do it has considerably strengthened, I'll almost certainly pussy out of it, like I do with everything. There are too many 'checkpoints' to pass before I even get to the big decision itself. (Hell, I can't even make mundane decisions. I've procrastinated on buying a water bottle for two years because I keep overthinking which one to get, and because I don't like spending money unnecessarily.)
But I can't see a future past then. I'm tired, and all that's more unrelenting than the pain is the world spinning along, leaving me further and further behind. It just gets worse. I don't want to fight anymore.
But when I think 'these are my last few months alive', I feel... very small, for a lack of better words. Like a scared child that just wants to cling onto mom or dad until they make things better.
(I lean towards believing in NDEs - and what they have in common, such as a loving afterlife, multiple lives, and connectedness to loved ones beyond only this life. Surely, I shouldn't be so afraid, believing that it won't be my last time on Earth. Survival instinct is a powerful thing, I suppose.)
In general, I feel as though the accumulated mental pain has made me 'degrade'. I feel less and less like I ever grew up into a collected human being (never felt like it to begin with). Pain unravels my mind until nothing but the childlike fear at the center is left, and I spend hours every day curled up in bed with it, until I can loosely tie the threads of myself back together. It adds a layer of shame to the suffering, being so helpless and weepy.
To sum it up, I guess, being alone takes its toll.
