How much is enough?

Discussion in 'Suicidal Thoughts and Feelings' started by bondono, May 15, 2012.

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  1. bondono

    bondono Member

    10 years ago I was a high school senior on the verge of suicide. I had no friends. I hadn't had friends since early elementary school. I spoke only when spoken to, and then only in a sort of automatic, thoughtless way. "How are you?" (Vacant Grin) "Fine, how are you?". I was on the verge of ending my life. I had the gun to my head. I was prepared to pull the trigger and paint my dad's walls with brains. The thought of him finding me and carrying that image to the grave filled me with a joy I hadn't felt since I was a toddler. It still does.

    I didn't pull that trigger. I didn't pull it because I had a little sister, and I didn't want her to suffer the trauma of losing me. As for the rest of the family, I sincerely did not care about their suffering. If my sister had not been born I would have pulled that trigger. No doubt about it.

    In the ten years that followed I made several attempts at fixing my life. Each ended in failure. To this day I have no friends. I have never been in love or had a relationship. I do not speak except in brusque response. I cannot say that not killing myself was the right decision.

    Even if I'm cured tomorrow and life is suddenly just peachy, that's still 10+ years of hell. Nothing is worth that. Nothing.

    My sister is grown up now. She's in a better position to deal with my loss. I've undergone years and years of therapy. I've taken multiple anti-depressants. I have made a sincere attempt to overcome depression. I can't. Even if I could beat this depression, I cannot begin to deal with people.

    I don't want to be around them. I don't want to communicate. I don't want to love. I want sex, and only because it is a basic human need. In my attempts at fixing life I have forced myself to interact with people, I have forced myself to try to fit in and make friends. These attempts have met with repeated failure. Time and time again. Failure after failure.

    People dislike me. Decades of depression make it nearly impossible to smile or laugh. I keep the darkness inside. I try to present a cheery, upbeat persona. I don't understand it, but people do not want anything to do with me. They won't even give me a chance. Whatever the problem is, I do not know what it is, and I do not believe I can change it. I am what I am, and what I am is disliked tremendously.

    Psychologists tell me there are other people just like me. Bullshit. This darkness runs deeper. Deeper than I can articulate. Deeper than I can comprehend. There was hope for me when I was a child. There is no hope for me now.

    When I'm told that communicating is a cry for help it drives me into a rage. NO! Communication is NOT a cry for help. Communication is natural, particularly when embarking on something that is truly terrifying, lonely, and painful. If I decide to kill myself it will not be an attempt or a cry for help. I will kill myself.

    In a few hours I'm going to see a new psychologist. More time and more money wasted. I won't discuss suicide with him. Why? Because I cannot trust him. What if he decides to have me committed in a hospital? This would be a tragedy. Not only would I be forced to kill myself prematurely, I may have to kill others to defend my right to die. That isn't something I want to have to do, but it is something I'm willing to do.

    Psychologists admit it themselves. Depression cannot always be cured. It's rare, yes, but what happens to those who cannot be cured? Are we meant to suffer through decade after decade? I realize there are people who would suffer at my loss. What about my suffering? I know what it feels like to lose someone, and I know that time heals those wounds. Time does not heal the pain inside me. With time the pain only grows worse.

    This is a sick society we live in. Not all of us are capable of assimilating, of deluding ourselves. Why can't I be allowed to die humanely and with dignity? Why force me to take my life in a painful, messy way? What purpose does that serve?
    Last edited by a moderator: May 15, 2012
  2. bondono

    bondono Member

    [double post]
  3. bondono

    bondono Member

    Went to the psychologist today. Answered a bunch of questions. I was going to have to wait several weeks before seeing a psychiatrist, but after hearing my story she arranged an emergency appointment for Friday. Yippie. More medication that won't make a damn bit of difference. Another person telling me what I could read in a textbook.

    I'm curious. When do people stop saying it will get better? When I'm 60 will people stop telling me that? 70? 80? At what point do people finally shrug their shoulders and admit that I was right all along?
  4. pickwithaustin

    pickwithaustin Staff Alumni

    Only you can create and follow a path to wellness. Talking to others, taking medications, going to hospitals... those are bandages. They have their value, but they are not the cures. The cure is within yourself and you need to fight to bring it out. If you're going to see a psychologist and not discuss what is really going on (i.e., suicidal thoughts), then you cannot blame the psychologist if they do not do anything that assists you toward wellness. Why are hospitals so bad? When my appendix burst, I was glad I was in a hospital. When my gall bladder decided it was time to inflame and hurt like a dickens, I was glad to be in a hospital. What is it about your dad that makes you dislike him so? Did he not provide you a home and food and clothing and the things a person needs for life support? Is it possible that if you felt he did not care that perhaps it was really that he had issues on his own to deal with, or that he didn't know how to express caring in a proper manner?

    I'm not being critical of you. I want to help. Throwing out thoughts in an attempt to help brainstorm with you is a form of caring. I have had my own demons to fight off and reason to feel the world has caved in around me as well. I have days that are pure despair, but I fight on. We only get one shot at life, so I'm not willing to trade that in because if I'm wrong, then I can't take a second shot.
  5. bondono

    bondono Member

    And if I don't want to push myself through a wellness regiment? Why not allow me to die humanely? Truth be told, I don't want to be better. I'm not interested in this life. If I could be happy tomorrow or kill myself painlessly and humanely today I would die.

    My dad didn't rape or beat me. That's the best I can say for him. I'm sure he had issues that turned him into the tyrant he was. I do not care. If I don't kill myself I am going to relish the day he is too old and feeble to care for himself. I'm going to take everything he worked for and then stick him in the cheapest nursing home I can find. If forgiveness is the path to happiness I guess I'm going to die miserable.
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