Hey stranger!

I wanna tell you something that will make you smile. I wanna make a change. I want you to feel better. I want you to be happy. But the truth is that I don’t know what to do to make you feel any kind of better. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. 

I don’t even know what to do to make me feel better. I’ve been sad, sick, tired and hopeless for too long. Maybe this is the time to let go. The time to stop trying. The time to stop being afraid of what death will do to the ones I leave behind, and what it’ll do to me. Maybe I just need to take the leap … again.

Stranger, and not-so-much-a-stranger-anymore, I want to tell you something that will make you smile. But I’m not sure I can. But I will tell you this: I appreciate your comment. Even if I take weeks to come back to you, I will always respond as long as I’m alive. And every comment, and word of encouragement means a lot to me. To hear that my words is read at all … Yeah, that’s kind of nice. Never give up in your ability to make a change in someone else’s life. Believe in the power of your words, and your caring.

And Stranger, one more thing, you’re valuable, worth it, wonderful. Believe it. Reach.

Application for voluntary death

Suppose there was a thing like that, what would the criteria be? Who would process the application forms? What would their day be like? “Hello honey! Oh, nothing out of the ordinary, I approved 14 inquiries, and some of them darling were quite troubling, if I may say so. Luckily most of them applied for sudden death, so they don’t need to suffer knowing when it’ll happen. Actually we’re in contact with a new hit man, he seems pretty darn funny! I hope I’ll get to work with him planning a few of the terminations!” …

I objectively want to die

I’ve thought about it long and hard. For many years, actually. I see that my decision has been influenced by my subjectivity to the matter, of course it has! But now, I think I have come to the point where I can make an objective choice. Or, I don’t just think, I know. I am making an objective choice, to die. It’s based on facts not feelings. 

  • My life is not worth living, because I have no real feelings, they are all some sort of bullshit: when I’m feeling happy, I don’t feel happy, I think and know happy. When I love someone, I don’t feel love towards them, I think it. 
  • I am a narcissistic psychopath (this doesn’t mean that every narcissistic psychopath should die, or that they can’t have a good life, it just means that I can’t have a good life as a narcissistic psychopath): the meaning in life for me lies in making a difference, and caring about others, as I cannot feel for others, that only leaves me with making a difference, but I cannot make a difference when the only thing I’m occupied with is me, myself and I. 
  • I am ugly (OK, I’m gonna be real honest, I don’t know where that came from, but it stays, it sounds objective to me that that should be a fact for me to die).
  • I have no value.
  • The people I’m surrounded by in my everyday life will be better off without me: my therapist will have room for a new patient, that will benefit both my therapist and the new patient; my family will have one less gift to get for Christmas; my colleagues don’t have to look at me during their work-day and they’ll have more work to do, this will make them feel more at peace and like they have more of a purpose; etc. etc. 

So, as you can see, this choice is not driven by subjective feelings, and whims. It’s thought-through and logical, reasonable, and objective. 

Standing on a cliff is not as glamorous as you’d think, step back you fool

Don’t ever try to kill yourself. It’s just not one of those things you put on your bucket list you know. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. It’s not relief and freedom. It’s not a bright-bright light at the end of the tunnel. It’s not easy. It’s not easy. And it definitely isn’t pretty. Don’t try it out, don’t let yourself go to see what happens. Don’t ever try to end your life. It won’t live up to your expectations. It’ll be horrible, awful and a hundred more words for gruesome. And for what? Most likely, you’ll live. 

 

(I know what I wrote sounds preachy, but it’s not meant to be. I was going to continue it with a tale of mine from a horrible, awful and a hundred more words for gruesome experience, but the truth is, I can’t phrase it. I can’t find the words to capture it. To be hundred percent honest I can’t really capture it inside myself either, it’s hard to think about. So my appalling story that was meant to scare you away from doing stupid stuff will remain inside myself, and hopefully scare myself out of doing stupid stuff. 

But if we stop to think about it, what good does it do us to continue sabotaging ourselves? Why do we continue telling ourselves the shit our abusers used to tell us, when the sound of their voices isn’t anything more than a memory to us now? Wouldn’t it be great if we could stand up for ourselves against ourselves, the same way we wish someone would’ve done it against others, who treated us bad, back then?)

First of all: I am a wrecking ball (And I’ll cause havoc on my soul!)

Why do I care!? I haven’t allowed myself to care. So why do I find myself with this strange, really strange, emotion inside. This caring-thingy! Why is it here? I haven’t allowed it, or invited it into my life. I don’t care. I don’t wanna care. Or I do. Kinda. But then I don’t, you know? 

I explicitly told myself not to care about this human being, that I was better off alone. But then I go ahead and care. WHY!? Stop it, god damn it! Stop it, you worthless piece of shit! You don’t deserve anything! You’re WORTHLESS. Stop caring! STOP!

I haven’t allowed myself to care. 3, 2, 1: self-destruct.

Depression’s a bitch

I feel like I haven’t evolved the last year. Like I haven’t moved an inch, not even a millimeter. I look at my life and feel like I’ve been stuck. For years. But it’s not true. I have evolved.

YES, I’m not better than I was last year. I haven’t come further in my education. I haven’t got any more work practice. I haven’t got any new friends. I haven’t moved out of my parents house. I’m not anywhere near an intimate relationship, or anywhere near wanting one. I’m still depressed. I’m still struggling with anxiety. I haven’t figured out a way to want life, or to be in life without it hurting. Yes, yes, yes. I’m not better than I was last year, I’m still sick … And it hurts so much to admit that, to know that. But denying the truth won’t make me get any further, denying reality won’t make anything any better.

YES, I’m not better than I was last year. I’m not further, faster, stronger. So what have I done all this time. Hung around, chilling, letting my life pass me by, going to waste? No. Because I’m not better than I was last year, but I have evolved. 

I have ‘developed, changed, transformed’. I have evolved. 

I’m not really into etymology, but I looked it up and the word comes from ‘unroll, unfold’, and that’s what I have. And things might not be any better yet, and I’m not any closer to a feeling of purpose or meaning, but I’m honest … Or, more honest (pause) than I was.

I have been fighting, and holding on with all of me, with all I’ve got to give. I have made it through another year. And yes, I’m at the same place, with the same people, with the same pain. But it’s not the same. It’s 2014, not 2013, or 2009. And maybe that’s all, maybe that’s enough. Because I could beat up on myself for not being well yet, and keep telling myself I suck, and that I’m not good enough, but what good is that gonna do? None. So I’m trying to tell myself that I have evolved. But really, I don’t know.

Feeling like a ton of waste because who am I to complain, when I don’t live in a third world country and have food on the table and heat in the floor. I try. I fight.