Some of these are things I’ve said and others come from other people but they all basically fit me.
“I am a relatively simple person in a complex set of circumstances.”
“You are so pretty when you are broken”
“I was once asked if I was homicidal and the honest answer was no death is not nearly as pretty as suffering.”
” It feels like sex. It feels like really good, sweaty, animal, oh-good-god-do-that-again sex.”
“An unhappy, smaller-than-should-be-possible ball of Sam.”
“Here we are negotiating like proper psychopaths”
“You think the worst thing is to end up all alone. It’s not, it is ending up with people who make you feel all alone” (robin williams)
And now for those of you who like pretty pictures:
This is not your ordinary anti-suicide message. It will not contain things like you shouldn’t do it because your family will miss you or it’s not the answer because in fact suicide sometimes is the only answer. It is the single best thing you can do for yourself under some circumstances. Now that I have said that I ask people to keep in mind that a boyfriend breaking up with you, a bad day, the loss of a friend, or bullying ARE NOT good reasons for killing yourself. No offense to those who think it is but get over yourself. These are things that will pass and you are probably better for.
There is only one reason you should consider suicide an option – suicide is an option when the pain that you are in be it physical or mental exceeds your ability to cope with it. Now what that level is no one can tell you. Only you know that point, I promise I will get to more on that in another post but for now I will step down off this soap box and hop up on the one that I intended.
It amazes me that suicide is illegal in the United States. People who contemplate it are treated to at least a two day stay in a place where I wouldn’t house a mass murder, watched by people who don’t care, and treated as if they are subhuman. This is unless of course they are lucky enough to have insurance that covers mental health, which for the most part in the US it doesn’t even the good plans.
You are warehoused for 72 hours while someone who doesn’t know you, your circumstance, or what brought you to consider suicide in the first place supposedly evaluates you, your life, and judges you. If that weren’t enough in that 72 hours you are likely to lose your job and some of your friends all while someone you don’t know is trying to decide whether or not you are really contemplating killing yourself. Which if you were not when someone put you in there you will be when you get out.
So the simple answer as to why you shouldn’t attempt suicide is because if you fail your life will become infinitely worse than it was before the attempt. The fact that you want to die doesn’t factor into it at that point and people start making decisions for you. These people making the decisions have no idea what you are feeling or why you are at the point of wanting to die. Tell me there is something right about this situation. I have been searching for years for an answer to that question.
How does this help a person who is suicidally depressed?
This is one of those nights where every fiber in my body is vibrating and I can think of nothing more fun than sinking to my knees in front of the nearest stranger. Filthy bathrooms in worn out clubs that look almost magical at night but sad and tired during the day. This is the time that I personify dangerous behaviors and need to take my energy, anger, and hatred out doing something fun and yes sucking a stranger off in a random bathroom is fun. It’s power and don’t let anyone ever tell you it isn’t. The way girl or guy looks at you when they know you are in control and that you are making them feel like indescribable incandescent pleasure in such a objectionable place.
There are some things that cannot be replaced by a safe, sane, alternative.
And for those of you who like such things.
There is a point when you realize you are going to die. Not from any disease or from an accident but by your own hand. That point in my life came a long time ago and that is not a bad thing. Some people think it is but the right to die is the only thing that you actually control. I realize that the people around me would be better off without me in their lives and I realize that I will never be a complete functioning person.
People say that there are things to live for but there really isn’t. There is no point to it.
I have read thousands of questions that boil down to one thing, I am in pain, how do I stop it. Search for something like “How do I commit suicide?” or “How do I die?” and you will find hundreds of people asking this question. The truth is those who are thinking about it are suffering. Yes, this is a bad thing and suicide is not the answer to most questions, until it is.
I am not going to say don’t do it, nor am I going to say that is the answer, because it is a personal choice. I have always said that suicide is the solution when the pain out weighs the ability to cope. Unfortunately this happens. It is fact and no one seems to admit that sometimes this is the answer. I am not talking about when you are a teenager and want attention or when your boyfriend breaks up with you, or when someone close to you dies. I am talking about when there is some much pain that you can’t see a way out. When you know that things will only get worse or worse yet stay the same and there is no answer to when it will stop. I am talking about when there is no end in sight and not likely to be one without killing yourself.
How many people have you asked for an answer and the only one that they could give you is that time heals, but time can’t heal something that has always been wrong. If you try things will get better… they say this not knowing how hard you’ve tried or what you have gone through to make it stop.
So sometimes you carver yourself up with a razor or engage in dangerous behavior because it gives you a moment of relief and no one can take that away. That is your choice. No one else’s just as the choice to end your suffering is yours.
Now here most people would tell you it’s okay it will get better or all you have to do is seek help and you will be okay. But it is never okay and it never gets better and every time you try one of their suggestions it only gets worse but you still try. Some say pray to god and he/she/it will help but when you pray there is no answer. When you take their drugs it doesn’t help it just makes you sleepy or angry or worse yet apathetic. When pain is all there is all you want to do is to make it stop.
Unfortunately because of liability I can’t tell you how to die. I wish I could because there are several ways that are very effective but that all depends on how you want to die. All of the people who tell you, you don’t have to and there is something to live for are not living your life. A life that only looks bleak and only gets worse and the only end you can see is misery and then eventual death with no one around and no one who cares because truly most people only care about themselves. They don’t care that you are suffering, they don’t care that you would do anything to stop it or that no matter what it is not going to get better. I am sure there will be people who will say no don’t do it. I have found that these people don’t get it.
They don’t understand that there is nothing that makes it better and very little that doesn’t make it worse. In my opinion you deserve the right to die, you deserve a way to make it stop. We euthanize animals that are in pain and suffering why not people. I don’t understand it anymore than they understand the need to make it stop before something worse than an neat suicide.
There are several things in my life that will only get worse. It will happen and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it will. I will be trapped even more so than I am now. There are options with a little research and perseverance. It only takes a bit of abstract research. For all of those that find this know at least there is one person that understands it and won’t give you platitudes about how it gets better when you talk to someone or that everything will change with this drug or that. It’s a constant struggle that you will go through. They don’t get it because they have never felt it.
I am one of those people who just wants it to stop. I think constantly about a car accident, they happen everyday or a killer that just happens to find me. I have even offered an open invitation to anyone who wants to kill me and do me a favor. Unless you know what that is like don’t give meaningless advice. Chances are if you are serious about dying drugs, therapy, or changes in your life won’t stop you from feeling the darkness. I know this was rambling and ultimately depressing but the fact is there are people out there that are better off dead. I am one of them, not that I am ready yet but I will be soon. People break and there is nothing you can do to stop them.
As always feel free to comment and tell me what you think. I will revisit this subject soon, but tonight I am just too damn tired of those who preach without ever knowing that it is not going to help.
And I leave you with this for those who like it:
It is funny that people respond more to the rehashed photos and sayings that I include rather than what I am actually saying. This happens here as well as in reality. What is really funny about the whole thing is my soul is being flayed alive in a parody of hell on earth. Don’t worry I don’t feel it anymore.
Not even the fact that I went from being relatively OK and dealing with it to a full blown psycho in the space of weeks seems to bother anyone. Maybe that’s because I hide well in every realm but here and the world that used to live inside my head. The true difference between a psychopath and a sociopath is that one doesn’t feel the difference between right and wrong and the other knows the difference and just doesn’t care. Which do you think I am becoming?
How long can a person not feel before they become amoral. Pain teaches us what to avoid or in my case what feels the best. It is how I cope with all of the other stuff sometimes through sex or on the edge of a knife. Without pain we don’t avoid the things we normally would. Yes, I am more than a little bit insane but I am good at seeing things for what they really are. I am above all else honest with myself and others to a fault. It gets me into trouble more often than not.
It is not that I don’t know it hurts others it is I just don’t care. I know that on some level I should and I once did but that was in the endless stretch of time that I fondly classify as before. What is really ironic is the same thing that makes me so ruthless as makes me more capable. Faster, harder, more calculating than I ever was even at my best. Most noticeable is that my aim is better and in speaking, writing, hunting, and fighting I am much sharper and everything is clearer now that I am not fettered by emotion or empathy. I sleep less, eat less, drink less, and am generally vibrating with adrenaline all the time. I can make practical logical choices despite the consequences to other people.
I am finding that there are a lot of things that are unneeded and most people do things that are just contrary all the time. Sometimes what I say is mistaken for malice but for the most part it is because I just don’t understand why it bothers them. I should and I am sure I used to but its just not there anymore. Is this better? If you look at it in terms of efficiency it seems so or would if it were not so very wrong. I could very easily become the killer that I always knew was inside me and is probably buried deep inside us all. I introduced myself to that particular darkness a long time ago. So here is the equation which is greater the need to kill or the fact that I used to think it was wrong even if I knew they deserved to die. Its simple math or it should be. Shouldn’t it?
I am watching, standing back as little bits of my soul are flayed and have long since given up praying for it to stop. I can hear the bits that once made me who I am shrieking in pain as they are torn, shredded and tortured until there is nothing left and I have to admit its beautiful, much like pain is, or the razors edge is.
I know the damage I do to myself is viewed as wrong but I don’t care
I know that I am just wrong and have gone so far from OK that even I can see it but I can’t seem to bring myself to care
I know that what I am thinking probably enough to get me locked up or worse but it doesn’t bother me anymore
It probably should
I know that I am searching for something but I don’t know what or what will happen when I find it
I know I crossed a line somewhere and I did it on purpose and I don’t care that I did
I know after they tried to help I became different, something new and they didn’t care
They played in my head once too often, their own private sandbox, prodding because I am an unusual case, tearing things up with their clumsy fumbling. They thought they were helping, making me face something without realizing that I already had. Never thinking that it would turn me into something dark, desperate, and hungry. It isn’t facing something that’s the issue I already knew what was down there. They just let it out. I would say god help me but god help them is more appropriate.
Tonight is one of those nights where the nightmares are real and they just won’t stop. Where if I could bring myself to touch someone I might just want that contact. Not even the person I am currently staying with sees that I flinch away when they get too close, I haven’t looked in a mirror for years, and I don’t seem to sleep anymore. I know after seven days my fingernails will get brittle, my skin and hair will dull, and my body will begin to break down. I look at this clinically because I can no longer feel anything – the well meaning ones took care of that.
I realize in a detached way that there is something like broken glass inside me, churning around as I move. I am almost afraid that when I cough beautiful red will stain my lips and I will know that the glass is real and not something I imagined. It will bubble up and spill over looking for all the world like an over filled glass. Pouring down in the restless tide desperate to overtake ground. Just as real as the red that pours out of a thousand tiny cuts so carefully hidden from the world. Its stunning in its own way and there are people who can see that for the tragically beautiful sight it is. The same way someone looks after everything else is done and the only thing left that they can do is cry because of its loss. There is purity in that sight unlike anything that people normally feel or witness. Just as there is purity in inflicting and receiving pain.
No one notices that the nightmares leave me screaming or that my heart beats too hard against the razor shoved carelessly and deep within it. I am surprised no one hears me break, slowly, so slowly over time.
I am waiting for the hallucinations to start. A nifty side effect that even the most hardcore drug addict would envy if they weren’t so real and so inescapable. Then they will come with their solutions, their quaint notions, and their tired cliches. Eventually they will say every thing will be alright except that it never is because they can’t see what I see. They don’t know what I know.
The blackouts have already started… some long purged defense mechanism gone haywire. Making me forget entire blocks of time because it can’t protect me from itself so it tries to protect me from everything else, even the things I don’t need protection from. Now I can’t even escape into my own world, I can just watch from afar wondering what the architects have planned.
It won’t let me rest. The cycle has gone one long enough for me to be wary of closing my eyes wondering what I will see when I do. I see it but I can’t feel it anymore and I can’t decide which is worse.
A hate has been rising up in me. It started as a slow burn that only twinged a little bit. You know the feeling when you see, do, or have done to you something that is only slightly unjust. It can be pried out of you with a kind word or happy thought. If it is not excised it continues to grow into a burning, a torturous heat with hard edge. It can still be cut from your heart by pure unadulterated lust and the wonderfully rough sex that comes with it. The kind of physical contact that leaves you sore and aching in the morning because you both have taken the hate out on each other and are better for it. This is the kind of fucking that most people only engage in once or twice and think that it is adventurous. The kind where the participants have no idea how close they’ve come to tearing each other apart.
It wandered into the territory of a bright flame as it grew. The hard edge to it becoming a bludgeon working further into my soul. Twisting into it like something wrong and painful. Although much harder to do because the edges of the heart are torn and bruised it can still be torn from the body, but only by using another as you are used in a visceral meeting of the two sexes. The kind of fucking that not many know and others think they’ve gone insane to engage in. The kind where you rip into the other person taking pain and pleasure instead of just giving it.
Then it turned to a roaring fire as it continued to grow. The edge to it is no longer hard but sharp as it shreds the heart piercing the soul before pulling out again only to ram back in. The only way to extinguish it is bloody and painful and kept quiet in the dark.
Finally the flames of the fire turned dark as it consumed me until it wasn’t a fire at all anymore just a burning hatred that echoes up from my eviscerated soul. A wealth of it pours off of me causing even the most oblivious of people to shy away. A darkness so deep and black that to rip it from me would tear apart what little is left. So entwined in what is me it would pull out my very soul. Still it burns deep inside leaving bladed teeth marks wherever it touches.
I have not been myself lately or rather I have been too much myself lately locked inside my own little world begging for escape. I look around at the people with me who don’t know me at all and slip back into an alternate reality that is more real to me than anything I can touch or hold but is infinitely more twisted that anything thought up on this plane.
In my world if something can think to do it, it has been done in technicolor brilliance that can only be accomplished in the mind. Things so twisted that they can only exist inside someone and they can only feast on the light and love in your soul. And feast they do. I am losing it.
I look at others, listen to them, and realize that no one has it worse or better than me because their mind might be doing it to them too. If I can hide it away from everyone but my readers they can hide it from me. Which sparks the thought, as I look at each person in turn, what horrible things is their mind doing to me as we talk. Are they similar things to what my mind is doing to them. Would they cringe away from me in horror if I told them or would they just smile at me knowingly.
Is that the same hunger or darkness I see behind their eyes? Is it the same blackness that is behind your eyes? I don’t know why you suddenly shift away only that you do. My mind instantly goes to the questions is the darkness showing, radiating off me like some twisted negative lighthouse. Or is it the blankness, the utter soulless look that is in my eyes. Does it make you think “she’s checked out?” Do you even notice? No one else does…