OK, I hate to be unoriginal, but here is yet another pathetic suicidal person here to spill their guts. My ability to express myself comes and goes, sometimes I'm crisply articulate, sometimes I don't know what the heck I'm saying, so we'll see how this ends up. It's obvious that when a person considers taking his or her own life, something is deeply wrong with their life, for whatever reason(s). Frequently there are common specific reasons (or triggers) like relationship break-ups, school failure, financial problems, job loss, various personal psychological issues, plain old chemical clinical depression, and still many other factors. But rather than just dive into whatever specific qualms I have, why don't I just preface my central thesis of the reason for suicide: what if you just don't like life, period? I think most people agree that life should be enjoyed. So if you don't enjoy life, and are unhappy most of the time, then what in the heck is the point of living? As our experience of life is entirely subjective, why should life be worthwhile, at any cost, when you just can't find any true happiness in it? When I sit down to spell out the reasons why I'd rather not exist anymore, I can come up with the laundry list. But the overall arc, the bottom line, is that I am just deeply unhappy with life, and have felt that way for a long time. Isn't that good enough? I've been off-and-on suicidal for a full 7 years now; 7 years ago is also when I first attempted to take my life. (It failed, obviously.) Back in the early days of my bouts with suicide, I heard things from people or read things online and such regarding the usual cliches, and one of them I remember: "Things get better. Your situation will change." Well, here I am, seven years later, and I can tell you no, they haven't changed. Ok, so what, the little things like where I'm at in school, or what job I have, etc. have changed. The normal details of life. But that overall arc, that full assessment of life--do I like it better now than I did then? No, I can't say that I do. After the first attempt, I tried to focus back on my life. But my mental processes always get stuck in the same recursive thought process, my face being shoved into the things I don't like about life or myself and not knowing what I could do about them, other than to outright end them (and, by consequence, everything else) but just straight up ending my life. I picked myself up and went about my life, but always do I end up hitting the same brick walls. And I disdain that other cliche, too: "It's a permanent solution to a temporary problem." Yes, the solution is permanent, that's true. Is the problem temporary? Says who? How do you know it's temporary, and conversely, how do I know the problem isn't? But that's the thing: you have to take a step back and try to rationally evaluate your problems and any potential solutions. But I've tried taking the rational approach, and I honestly don't see any solutions to those problems, or at least any solutions that would really feel to be "solutions" to me. It's the assumption that all problems are temporary that annoys the hell out of me. OK, technically, all problems are temporary because life itself is temporary. But then all that goes to show is that the problems will only be over once you are over! That's not to say all problems are the same. Some problems are temporary, some aren't. Everyone is afflicted by one or the other, or often both. Some people, the group we fall into, aren't able to cope with those problems and we seek escape out of life itself. Others somehow find ways to cope or solutions to their problems, or at least to a great enough degree that they keep on living. But it looks as though I am perpetually in the former group. My attitude is, if there really are no solutions to my problems, then why bother? I realize how big of an asshole I am for this. I know that, objectively, the are people around the world who have it worse than me--people dying in the wars, people suffering from drought and disease and poverty and all the ailments of third-world economies and conflicts. I am genuinely sorry for them. Yet in spite of this recognition I cannot avoid becoming self-absorbed in my own torments. My rational recognition of their problems says nothing about mine. The intended effect might be "Things could always be worse," but still that says nothing about the actualy unacceptabiliy with which I regard my existence and problems. And if I have truly been off-and-on suicidal for no less than seven years, then why the heck haven't I finally gone through with it in the past? In spite of all my personal justifications to take my own life, I can't ignore the one deterrent to suicide that I do take seriously: its impact on family members. I don't want to hurt my family. Each time I have had a suicidal bout, wanting so badly to end it all, the image of my painfully grieving family is one I can't banish from my head. It's enough that I bite my tongue and just continue to suffer. But the thing is, I don't know how long I can hold steady on that path. I don't know how long I can resist jumping into selfishness and finally being done with it all. It's a dilemma I face everytime I have struggling episodes of suicidal feelings. Speaking of family, one might say, "Oh, well you apparently have a family who you love and loves you! Isn't that enough to dismiss suicide once and for all?" No, it's not quite like that. I don't really feel much love for my family. It's a horrible thing to say, but it's true. Yes, there's a basic, in-born love between me and my family, of the assumed kind. But I don't truly feel their love. More like, it's a burden. Most people find meaning in their life partially (maybe primarily) through their interpersonal connections, their family and friends. That connection is strong for such people. But it's not strong for me. My family is there, but that's all: they're just there. I don't feel anything about it, one way or another. Yet still, I hold onto life because whether or not I feel like I love my family or that they love me, it's still a group of individuals who would experience pain at my departure. That's a cruelty I wish nothing more in the world to avoid. But that is ALL that stands between me and going through with suicide. And the family situation is not that prohibitive of suicide: I don't have a wife and kids--basically, dependants. I turn 25 next month, and I still live at home with the folks. I have two sisters who have their own family, and that's basically the family tree in my situation. But these people are not dependents. They don't depend on me financially or emotionally like actual dependents would. If I had a wife and kids, that probably would be such a massive barrier and I could never offend that obligation, no matter how bad life got. (I'd like to think so, at least.) But since I don't have such dependents, it feels like I have more leeway to finally commit suicide. Yes, my non-dependant family members will still feel grief nevertheless, but it won't be as starkly immoral as if I had left behind a spouse and children to fend for themselves. It's not the same thing. So that's the situation. I'm repeatedly slammed in the face by thoughts of suicide but my wish to not hurt my family stands in the way, but week by week I wonder if I can't finally just say "to hell with it" and be done with it once and for all. There really is no other solution. I know what my problems are and what their solutions would be, but I am not able to obtain those solutions. I won't go into detail, as this has grown longer than I intended it to be, but the bottom line is that I don't accept who I am, I don't accept my position/circumstance in life, and I just plain don't have what it takes for this life. Seeking a conselor won't help. It's not a matter of a chemical imbalance in the brain. Medication won't do anything--in fact, the only thing it would serve to do is force me into a happiness where my core situation has not changed at all; that sounds horrifying to me, to have all my problems stay the same yet be chemically forced into a reaction. Screw that. So forget medication--what about just talking to the therapist? That won't do good either. I've had endless conversations inside my head, arguing with myself over my problems, and I already know what a therapist will likely say (or not be able to say) about each problem. I know where the responsibility for happiness lies--it lies within us. We are responsible for our happiness, no one else, I completely understand that. Don't accuse me of having the wrong expectations about anything. But while happiness is our responsibilty, that doesn't mean it's our capability. I don't think I am capable of truly finding happiness. I have been searching for the longest time, to no avail. Little things here and there distract me from the unhappiness of life, of course--but they are the briefest, fleeting moments at best. Like when I listen to a song I like, or watch a good movie, or go swimming. I'm temporarily immersed in the diversion that each brings, but them my attention is swiftly returned the the deep disatisfaction inherent with life. What's the point of writing all this, then? I'm not expecting any answers. I'm just here to share my story, like others here do. So am I going to commit suicide? I feel like I will eventually, I just don't know when. But I am very unhappy with life overall, have been that way for a long time, and don't see anything changing in the future. The struggle will only continue. I keep on trucking in the meantime, for the sake of my family as I explained above, but I don't know how long I can maintain that struggle.