I found this forum this morning and spent the last few hours reflecting on how I feel, what I am thinking trying to make sense of my emotions…. Trying to intellectualizing my thoughts the only way I know how. I am not asking for help with overcoming my despair, but asking for help in trying to understand it better from a philosophical perspective, and less of an emotional one. I live what many people would consider to be charmed life. I have a beautiful wife who loves me, a beautiful daughter, a good career, make excellent money. Materially, I have most of the things a lot of people spend their lives trying to obtain, yet here I am in a quandary of emotional and intellectual strife trying to rationalize my own existence, and develop my own sense of self-identity and ultimately choose the ending of my own fate. I’ve heard that self-destruction is not one for the simple heart or of a simple mind. This self-indulged longing is a sign of great inner sensitivity to my emotional strife and intellectual will. Saint-Marc Girardin said that “It is the malady of the refined and of philosophers”. I find for myself, that there is an unexpected kind of satisfaction from the experience of self grieving and contemplation from all of this, that the fact remains that pain is not as easily extinguished as pleasure is. Grief becomes an occupation that fills all my waking moments. I plunge myself into the abyss of sadness. An illness, with without a doubt, but an illness whose actual texture is rather seductive more than it is painful, wherein death comes to seem like a surrender into infinity. Taking full control of my own fate, creating the ultimate self-determination and last bow of identity. I don’t fit into a category of inflicting violence onto myself or others…. I am not seeking my own destruction aggressively. Im not in that category, as I care not for an audience of any kind nor desire others sympathy of my emotions, only to intellectualize it and understand what it is exactly that I feel. I simply wish them to be non-existent or would gladly surrender them on the condition of living in bliss without conditions. This is not the world we live in, however romantic the notion becomes, or at least if experimented with, is simply not sustainable. But then again, what is sustainable? We have a galactic evolution of transformation of all things living and non living. A fruit fly may live only for a few days, a flower a few weeks and granite formations in the Rocky Mountains will eventually too perish along with our earth and sun, and Milky Way galaxy on its collision course with Andromeda. What is this self-identity or my stream of consciousness that I am biologically pre-programmed to preserve…. but that my intellect and emotions from my brain try to override? In this sense, I think that suicide is not an act of self-annihilation, but rather the ultimate passive succumbing to grief or despair, and the supreme active assertion of self identity. “I die…. Therefore I am”. There is a beautiful sense of irony about that statement. For me, it’s the ultimate rejection and challenge to the perceived status quo of society’s described value to ourselves. I don’t have a lot to oppose, or social imposition to reject, or malice in my heart directed toward another to inflict guilt, pain, or grief upon another. The reason I am here now is solely to prevent the lifelong grief my actions and decision would inflict upon my 9 year daughter, and 28 yr old wife. No one has failed me, no one has abused me and I hold absolutely no one responsible for my thoughts and feelings but myself. I have built a prison, my own prison, brick by brick with methodical precision over time. Philosophically, I too am aware that I alone hold the keys to the prison door, but time has eroded my sense of what freedom feels like. The sweetness of life itself, untainted by selfish society grooming and molding our sense of self into what it deems appropriate for its cause and collective desires. I am trying to intellectualize my own thoughts, and simply wish to explore them further. I sporadically visit a therapist, who in the beginning was a career coach to help me determine a path, but last week’s visit brought about a revelation in my being honest with myself. Tears flowed from my eyes as I pulled the truth from my heart and uttered them between my lips. I must face these thoughts using something I’ve never really used before and that it honesty… not to others, but most importantly to myself, but my own honesty hurts me deeply. How can I be married, and have nothing but a loving wife.... surrounded by family who genuinely cares about my well being, yet feel completely lonely a full of despair. How can I live with myself for having the gifts of love, yet do not want to be married and reject it and push away. How can I can have an absolutely beautiful green eyed, spectacularly brilliant daughter, yet do not want to be a father. How can I can have a career and money, yet want nothing to do with it. My life is controlled by fulfilling the dreams of others, yet my dreams have long dissipated to the point I do not even have the hope or will to see them realized. In my death, I rationalize that I fulfill the ultimate sense of self-identity by making a decision that absolutely no one can ever make for me, nor ever take away. Why is my own depression so seductive? Can death be a gift… to myself? Many have chosen this path… and many have made the decision with honor. Honor to themselves and in memory of those that survived them. Military generals in times past chose to end their own life, to PRESERVE their honor rather than suffer defeat on the battlefield, and history supports that honor and ultimate self-sacrifice. My identity…. I don’t know what that is.