YukiFox
Pastel demon
- Dec 8, 2018
- 320
Hi, Yuki here. I'm at the forum since 2018 and I'm really trying to overcome my suicidal tendencies. But I had a recent crisis, mid - serious, I think. I was thinking to publish this post in Recover; however, in order to venting all the things that I want to talk here, I consider that it wasn't appropiate for any person(s) who wants to improve their lives.
Since I really NOT want to talk any of suicidal thoughts to my therapist, (to avoid any forced reclusion) I'll rant and explain what happened here.
My brain, for whatever reason that definitely I WILL NOT talk with any mental health professional, has fetishised my own death (And, by extension, death in general). Since the only method that I imagine to end my life was hanging, I figure out to find some gore sites and forums with that kind of material, to play the "guilt" card to myself. Also I found a community of 3d renderings of hanging persons, mostly in erotic scenarios. I tried to convince myself that I was only an unadmitted asphyxia fetishist, but some part of me really wanted to pass away, and even fantasize about having an "accident" when get choked by another person or by myself with any device. But I wasn't a fetishist: I really imagine my own death by hanging, as an undeniable fate. In fact, I really had an attempt disguise as a "curiosity" session, only to know "how it's like" to be choked. When I feel that the tie blocked something in my neck for around 5 seconds, I panicked and I get up again and aborted the "session".
Some part of me don't want to leave this world, since I had a few goals to achieve, since publishing some of my fiction books, complete my transition (Both hormonally and legally) as trans woman, try have a partner at least once... and not least important, to shut up the f*&&*I mouths of the transphobes, both conservatives and exclusionists, that the transgender people had a high rate of suicide and I want to demonstrate that transgender and non-binary people can have a normal, happy life and slap them in the face with our rejoice, metaphorically...
My point is: I realize that I embraced death, at general. Not as a wank device to me: I'm really insensitive to my own suicidal thoughts. I changed my avatar and personification as "Ixtab priestess" to "pastel demon" as a step to self improvement, but the last days wasn't pleasant to me. In general, 2020 is a hard year for anyone, as also to me: I lost my two parents (My mom for diabetes complications at february, my dad for kidney failure at april), I was fired to my only steady/formal job, trapped in povetry with a poor diet (I lost around 30 pounds), and trying to survive to my death thoughts. Perhaps someone thinks that I'm not being serious or don't really want to pass away, but always I consider that I'm split in the two shores of the spectrum, since I admitted suicide as a rightful way to die, and don't judge anyone who wants to do it, since I understand their struggles in this world. Call me a pessimist, or self loathing jibber jabber, but I'm concerned about my own safety. I procastinate a lot and I fear to lost all my incomes and being homeless. In theory, my family is helping me borrowing some money, however, at any moment I have to pay back that. Despite I'm aware of my talents, despite I'm surrounded by positive people (The landlady is one of them and had some mercy with me regarding the rent deadlines), I don't figure how I can survive. The only tool that really heals me is writing: that's why I'm writing this venting. Sure, I respond myself, but that isn't enough. Perhaps I compare that suicidal ideation to a scar who we can't erase, since the depression (I'm aware of my depression too, mostly by my transgender issues). Whatever. I want to know why my brain decided to embrace death as their pastime or their favorite topic.
Since I really NOT want to talk any of suicidal thoughts to my therapist, (to avoid any forced reclusion) I'll rant and explain what happened here.
My brain, for whatever reason that definitely I WILL NOT talk with any mental health professional, has fetishised my own death (And, by extension, death in general). Since the only method that I imagine to end my life was hanging, I figure out to find some gore sites and forums with that kind of material, to play the "guilt" card to myself. Also I found a community of 3d renderings of hanging persons, mostly in erotic scenarios. I tried to convince myself that I was only an unadmitted asphyxia fetishist, but some part of me really wanted to pass away, and even fantasize about having an "accident" when get choked by another person or by myself with any device. But I wasn't a fetishist: I really imagine my own death by hanging, as an undeniable fate. In fact, I really had an attempt disguise as a "curiosity" session, only to know "how it's like" to be choked. When I feel that the tie blocked something in my neck for around 5 seconds, I panicked and I get up again and aborted the "session".
Some part of me don't want to leave this world, since I had a few goals to achieve, since publishing some of my fiction books, complete my transition (Both hormonally and legally) as trans woman, try have a partner at least once... and not least important, to shut up the f*&&*I mouths of the transphobes, both conservatives and exclusionists, that the transgender people had a high rate of suicide and I want to demonstrate that transgender and non-binary people can have a normal, happy life and slap them in the face with our rejoice, metaphorically...
My point is: I realize that I embraced death, at general. Not as a wank device to me: I'm really insensitive to my own suicidal thoughts. I changed my avatar and personification as "Ixtab priestess" to "pastel demon" as a step to self improvement, but the last days wasn't pleasant to me. In general, 2020 is a hard year for anyone, as also to me: I lost my two parents (My mom for diabetes complications at february, my dad for kidney failure at april), I was fired to my only steady/formal job, trapped in povetry with a poor diet (I lost around 30 pounds), and trying to survive to my death thoughts. Perhaps someone thinks that I'm not being serious or don't really want to pass away, but always I consider that I'm split in the two shores of the spectrum, since I admitted suicide as a rightful way to die, and don't judge anyone who wants to do it, since I understand their struggles in this world. Call me a pessimist, or self loathing jibber jabber, but I'm concerned about my own safety. I procastinate a lot and I fear to lost all my incomes and being homeless. In theory, my family is helping me borrowing some money, however, at any moment I have to pay back that. Despite I'm aware of my talents, despite I'm surrounded by positive people (The landlady is one of them and had some mercy with me regarding the rent deadlines), I don't figure how I can survive. The only tool that really heals me is writing: that's why I'm writing this venting. Sure, I respond myself, but that isn't enough. Perhaps I compare that suicidal ideation to a scar who we can't erase, since the depression (I'm aware of my depression too, mostly by my transgender issues). Whatever. I want to know why my brain decided to embrace death as their pastime or their favorite topic.
