I am quite serious contemplating killing myself. I haven’t written in a while because I don’t seem to care about anything anymore, including writing.
Yeah unoriginal title for a fairly unoriginal post.
It amazes me that there are two reactions to a famous person killing themselves. It was a tragedy and we didn’t know.
Yes, loss of a valued life is always a tragedy and no you never can no. If someone feels suicidal, they won’t wear a sign, they won’t tell you hey you I’m going to kill myself today! Why? Because you will try to stop them, you will spout platitudes and simpering cliches, and they might be okay for a few days but they know that the anxiety and depression WILL come back. There is no cure for it, there is no way to make it go completely away.
Sorry, I get a bit soap boxy about this. I am a firm believer in the right to die. I am the firm believer that people have the right to decide when and how they die. I am a firm believer that if your pain has surpassed your ability to cope, you should have the right to say enough.
I happen to live in a country where this is illegal. They lock you up in the worst way possible for trying and not succeeding or for seeking help when you are trying NOT to kill yourself but feel you need someone to talk to about it. You get into trouble for seeking help when you think you might kill yourself. Tell me if that’s not backwards. Personally since my last experience with mental health I prefer just to find someone yummy and well if you don’t know read my other posts.
This is actually not what this post started out as but it was what it became… As a complete aside I would like to share the cutest thing that I have seen in a long time. It is by the Oatmeal and I highly recommend you check them out. Yes, this is a rare promo and link…
So I am single, older, and not rich. I have no children. People wonder why I am two steps from suicide on any given day. Well here it is, I took care of my father as he got old and eventually couldn’t do things for himself. I am currently taking care of my mother as she gets old and can do less for herself. What do you honestly think will happen to me when I get old and can no longer do things for myself?
I will end up in an institution because I can’t take care of myself, laying on a mat on the ground because I can no longer stand and am a fall risk, force fed canned, pureed food for the rest of my miserable life, listening to the screams of patients who are at least fortunate enough to have lost their minds. Or is the horror more real to them because they are crazy. This is the reality of what happens to the people who no one wants and my whole life no one has wanted me, I am not deluding myself enough to think my death will be any better.
Ordinarily I at least post a picture but if you don’t know what goes on in low income nursing homes…
Look up pressure sores, elder abuse, and nursing home abuse and switch to images.
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 sounds strange but the Russian roulette of my emotions for you get the better of me. It’s funny that I need physical sensation to remember the act of dying. I sit trying to put it into words but there are none really. None that matter at least. The cold metal barrel and the soft beckoning taste of gunpowder always astound me. It isn’t like anything I have felt before. It is good to remember how to feel at least. It’s like trying to catch a dream.
I know I can do it even if this doesn’t make much sense. I remember what it was like but I there is a block there when I get to how it is supposed to feel. The familiar ache is gone but it has left something infinitely more horrible behind. Everything is so much quieter now so much more peaceful which makes it all the more devastating. I would do anything to get me back. Anything to break this silence.
How do you say to people that something is wrong… no I mean really really wrong like horribly deadly carving yourself up into little itty bitty pieces wrong?
And here for those of you who like them are nifty pictures.
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.
Yes this is a redlined post. Not for kiddies in more ways than one. It is important to remember that there is an age of consent and anything breaking that age can be very very very harmful. That being said all activities should be safe, sane, consensual, and not harmful to you or others.
Most people who know me, have read my writing, or seen any of my lectures understand that I am open about enjoying all forms of sex, adult entertainment, and all things that feel wonderful. My motto has always been if it feels good then enjoy it while you can. There is too much in this life that is damaging or hurtful to not take advantage of something that feels wonderful.
Why am I stating this again when everyone knows my stand on all things pleasurable?
Simply because there are far too many people who judge and maybe after reading this they might be a bit less likely to condemn.
I had a conversation with some friends not long ago that turned from a lighthearted discussion about blow jobs to something much darker. Dark is nothing new to me and depending on my mood I might like very very dark things done to my body and doing very very dark things in return. There were several of us talking from a variety of different backgrounds with a variety of different ideals. We had both ends of the spectrum. One of the subjects was a time honored taboo in our culture and to respect my friends I won’t get detailed. The fact was they engaged but were unsettled by what they were doing. They were wracked by guilt.
It turned out that although they felt very strong feelings of love, desire, and attraction they were hurt by the fact that the feelings existed. How many of us can control what we feel for another person? Can we simply turn off attraction, sexual desire, love?
If you ask any of my ex-boyfriends, girlfriends, or even friends they will certainly tell you that I have one hell of a time with it, hence mistakes I have made by getting back together with them. After the statement was made one person left and another I asked to leave. No matter what I can’t deal with someone who judges a person without knowing the whole story. The two that left, left because sometimes society cannot tolerate a new concept even if it doesn’t harm anyone.
Society judges that harshly.
My point is this…
If two people want to engage in something that does not harm anyone else, doesn’t harm them, and they enjoy it what is the problem? I don’t see one. What two people do in their bedroom is really seriously none of my or anyone elses business. I might not choose it for me but then again I am not in their circumstance. If I were perhaps I would.
If you look at the taboo subjects we have when it comes to sex which ones should truly be immoral or illegal. Which ones really do harm? In the case of my friends and me on occasion it is not the act that hurts it is society’s reaction to the act. There are things about me that I keep private because people look at me different when they find out. Is it just me that thinks society shouldn’t have any say in what I do privately?
If you enjoy something then enjoy it. It can be very hard when society frowns on what you are doing but you do far more damage to yourself because of it when you deny something that you enjoy. The fact that something deviant is enjoyable doesn’t hurt you, caring how people judge you will. The guilt is what destroys you not the act. Guilt is a very very powerful construct but it is a construct. It is very rarely real. I know I feel guilty over things that are not my fault all of the time.
Feeling guilty about something that hurt someone else is a good thing. Feeling guilty about something that you enjoy that doesn’t hurt anyone or feeling guilty about feeling a certain way is useless. It is a waste of energy and emotion. Feeling guilty because society, the church, or other people tell you to is just plain silly. There is nothing about sexual desire that is safe, sane, consensual, and doesn’t hurt anyone else to feel guilty about.
As long as the desire, activity, or feeling doesn’t hurt you, hurt others, and you enjoy it then why not enjoy it without worrying about what other people think. You shouldn’t feel guilty about something that is natural for you just because someone else says you should feel guilty. Guilt can kill.
I expect sand as my eyes slide open and am surprised when the storm from the night before has not covered me. I wonder if that is how I got buried in the first place oh so long ago. Slowly I sit up and contemplate the bars of my prison, they were alive and moving only yesterday. Dead and cold is somewhat better than the chitinous clicking and scraping of large insects moving around. I run my hand over them feeling the spines and tiny hairs scratch against my skin. Hair embeds itself deep into my flesh instantly causing it to itch underneath my calloused palm. The hair seems to burrow deep twisting and turning worming its way into the muscle where scratching the skin will bring no relief from the writhing. Only an torturous insatiable itch.
Shuddering I try not to think about the endless hours of torture ahead while I dig at my own flesh, tearing it to make a feeling stop, a feeling that might only be a phantom but still feels just as real. I know that later I will scratch it until it bleeds onto the harsh white sand beneath me. In a way I miss the pain of real life but not enough to live it.
Trying to ignore the squirming in my hand I reach up to brush the hair out of my face only then realizing the world looks different. What I first thought was sand sticking to my skin is smooth instead of the grainy rush I came to expect from the tiny shards of glass that make up the sand in this place. It takes me a minute to notice that the skin is too smooth, to cool against my fingertips. My hands slide forward chasing my cheekbones they are there but too smooth too cool and too unmoving. My fingertips caress the smooth surface covering my cheeks tracing slowly back to my ears which amazingly are free of the enclosure. The pads of my fingers brush backward through my hair almost panicking at the lack of buckles or straps.
My heart pounds in my chest as I trace the lines at the edge of my hair. The cool metal blends with my flesh curling into it. The itch is momentarily forgotten as I realize that this might be folded into my skull wrapped up in with flesh and bone. It is only now that I feel the weight of it. My fingers skate back across the cool metal marveling that it is not being warmed by my flesh and body heat only to realize that I have no heat of my own anymore. I have been here too long and it seems that this place is turning me into it. I lean back hard wondering if the mask is metal at all. Maybe it is like the bars of the cage, not metal but alive and slowly taking over.