Why I’m Alive

7 11 2011

Here I am, at just gone half two in the morning (UK time) and whilst going to sleep would be nice, I have other things on my mind. Of course, befitting me, these aren’t happy thoughts keeping me up so I’m writing in the vague hope of getting some peace so I can sleep.

I’ve had suicide ideation for the better part of twenty years, and the abject terror of reaching thirty five has been building for the better part of ten years. So, to quote a shit CPN “You’re still here”, the question she didn’t ask because she was shit and a moron (not that I’m bitter) is the childhood favourite; why?

To paraphrase Homer Simpson, “Narcissism, the cause of, and solution to, all my problems”. I loathe myself intensely, yes there are good things about me, I’m a bit clever, I’m also a bit caring, but these are far outweighed by the downsides. Everything about me is a cause for me to view myself in the most negative way.

Yes I’m clever, but I’ve never done a fucking thing with it

I’m caring, but this doesn’t get me what I want does it because nice guys finish last and get fucked over

I’m not attractive. Yeah, I know those who will see me say that I’m not ugly. Yeah, I’m not even that distinctive.

I’m fucking useless no matter which way you look at it, can’t even kill myself properly when I’ve tried.

I am, without question, a failure, an oxygen thief

All these and more that I can’t quite vocalize at the moment but I promise you that were you to come up with something, I can point out where you’re wrong and that I am in fact a pointless piece of shit on the sole of humanity’s shoe.

Spot the narcissism there? In a nutshell it’s all the views that attack me for being weak, for being useless, for being pointless, all the things my narcissism says I shouldn’t be yet I am. Is it right? Yes, of course it is.

So why am I still alive? Why haven’t I killed myself yet? Because a narcissists biggest fear is dying. Given the choice, with all things equal, I’d live to at least 1,000 years of age. There’s so much to do, so much to experience. My narcissism has shoved my self preservation instinct so far ahead that death by my own hand is impossible.

So I’m not going to die right? To be honest, I don’t know. Whilst my narcissism is strong, it’s coming up against a deadline (no pun intended) which it’s struggling to come to terms with. There’s only so long you can resist the temptation before you give in and this upcoming event is really putting the pressure on.

Do I want to die? Not really no, it scares the bejesus out of me, but the thing is that I really REALLY have had enough of living. I really hope that the appointment with the doctors on Wednesday goes poorly because then there’s nothing to stop it, no further point to prevent things. And I can act out the fantasy I have in my head, which, whenever I see elements included, makes me smile.

I even know myself well enough that I’ll have to fight myself to carry it out but I gotta say that it’s a fight I want to win. This isn’t a cry for help, I’ve been doing that for a couple of decades now, this is more a cry for peace, for an end to the pain.

Suicide isn’t a good thing, not going to pretend it is, it’s a permanent solution to a temporary problem is the saying. I really don’t recommend it to anyone and I have a vain last hope that people can actually get the help they need to remove it as an option. Problem for me is that my temporary problem has been a permanent fixture for at least twenty years and shows no sign of abating. So, for me, it appears my demise is the lesser of two evils. A Do Not Resuscitate on the metaphorical medical notes of my life.

Someone do me a favour…

Switch off the life support.





2 responses

7 11 2011

Don’t want to live. Commitments to others. Mostly no energy or push to do the deed. With you there.

7 11 2011
Rachael Black

If you do not stop bitching about turning 30 I will kill you. Heh.
Turning 50 on Friday. Boyfriend moved out yesterday. I am behind on utility bills, Social security disability payment cut by a third since my daughter turned 18. No money to heat the house and it’s snowing, and nowhere to move because there’s no money,
and the only nice thing I have left -after a lifetime of working my ass off,owning homes, building two businesses, all the toys, you name it, s a concert grand piano that I play, and has been in the family for over 80 years. It is the only thing I have left of my father. Limits the ability to move anywhere.

I am turning 50 and have NOTHING. nothing left nothing to look forward to, because of this disease. Every day I wish for death, and like you fucked up two suicide attempts over the last 10 years.
I am turning 50 alone, old, without anyone to talk with. Sure there are meds available but I cannot afford a therapist. Remember this is the States and the uninsured -and even those on what is social security here- have HUGE co-pay amounts the yare responsible to pay every time you get a med, see a doctor, go the hospital. Everything. Still owe thousands to the hospital from the FAILED back surgery last March. so am in constant pain 24 hours a day.

What is keeping me alive is not narcissism. It is how fucked up my daughter will feel. And now, Officially being OLD which equals unattractive, no longer sexy, without a boyfriend (I asked him to move because he is lazy, feels entitled, thinks I’m his mom, maid, slave and personal bank because he can’t manage his money-which has destroyed the way I was barely living) here to hold me occasionally, there is nothing I’d rather be than dead. All I do is cry and wonder when I’ll be on the street and the only random joy I have left -playing the piano and writing music- will be gone as well with the piano.

Null hun, the point of the above rant is to show you… Things CAN be worse. Want to be the sole guest at my birthday party this weekend -twisted smile-?

I am always happy to see you are still posting. Thank you. Sending positive thoughts your way. I’d pray, but being an atheist it would probably just make us both explode…. but not die. Just drool fro many more years.
Fuck that. If I am going to go it will be by me own hand. With a handgun. Slicing up my wrists didn’t help: takes too fucking long to bleed out. Pills didn’t work: they made me throw up.

Be well. and STFU about turning 30 you lucky bastard! You have 20 years until you’re REALLY ready for the action of suicide. I peaked at age 39. There is a long time for you to keep trying to find the right help, be screwed over, and keep trying. Will you ever be cured? Hell no. But keep pushing and keep trying. Please.

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