Recently I've had a desire to simply not exist.
Not suicide, just a lingering desire to have never walked this planet. To have all memories of me vanish like a wisp, like smoke in the wind, to be forgotten and erased from everyone's lives. I wish for this, such that my family will not have to grieve for me, because I'll simply have never existed. I will not have to go through the pains and agonies of an actual death. Lastly, as petty and ridiculous as it is, I do not desire for my death to be ridiculed by the members of my community.
As if the thoughts and jokes and things that people say truly even matter at that point.
How ridiculous that is.
I am no longer actively suicidal, just an occasion longing to no longer exist, passively, though on some days those ideas birth the inklings of plans that I truly hope never come to fruition. Life is good now. There is no reason to no longer want to live, but I simply feel no purpose in life. I am not in agonizing depression, nor am I sad constantly, as I frequently was in the later years of my adolescence.
It is simply quiet. A lack of drive or motivation.
It feels like I'm only living life for others. I have no purpose, no end goal, and I have no idea what I want to truly do or like. I have a slight idea, a slight direction in where I want to take things, or rather, where I should take things.
But do I really want those things? Will I really be happy? On the rare occurrences where I allow myself to think such things, I feel nothing but a bottomless pit of despair.
What if I'm on the right path? What if I don't end up liking the path I'm on? What if I'm not good enough, not smart or skillful enough for the path I wish to take?
What if I am simply wasting the time, energy, soul, and money of my family?
Are they putting their faith into someone who is bound to meet a dead end, someone who has no true future?
It always feels like I'm always behind my peers. Everyone has their lives figured out, everyone has motivation. I know it's not true, but this anxious creature in my stomach twists and burrows its knife inside me whenever I converse with others.
If I am just wasting everyone's time, is there any point in continuing? I myself have no motivation or drive. It would seem that logically, it would be more beneficial to my loved ones if I were simply to dissapear. They could then invest their resources into someone else, perhaps my brother, who could surely achieve greater things.
Suicide, for me, is the coward's way out. That is something I have come to believe in these thoughts I've had. Blunt, but brutally honest. (I want to clarify that I am only stating this in regards to my own situation. A lot of people have situations so bleak, so draining, so painful (be it abuse, addiction, poverty, etc.) that I believe it takes an immense strength to simply get up and even live and wake up in the morning for them. I am simply just not one of those people who have such a situation.)
I used to hate that phrase.
It felt so invalidating, almost like my mental struggles were simply a coward's way of thinking. Now, though, it does feel like it.
I simply do not desire to continue, because I am weak. Because I do not have the strength to face my family's potential disappointment, my future, my present self, and my lack of motivation in life.
I have more that I want to say, but it is 3AM, and I am supposed to work on an abundance of things tomorrow. I fear that this will only be part one of my idiotic, nonsensical rant.
Not suicide, just a lingering desire to have never walked this planet. To have all memories of me vanish like a wisp, like smoke in the wind, to be forgotten and erased from everyone's lives. I wish for this, such that my family will not have to grieve for me, because I'll simply have never existed. I will not have to go through the pains and agonies of an actual death. Lastly, as petty and ridiculous as it is, I do not desire for my death to be ridiculed by the members of my community.
As if the thoughts and jokes and things that people say truly even matter at that point.
How ridiculous that is.
I am no longer actively suicidal, just an occasion longing to no longer exist, passively, though on some days those ideas birth the inklings of plans that I truly hope never come to fruition. Life is good now. There is no reason to no longer want to live, but I simply feel no purpose in life. I am not in agonizing depression, nor am I sad constantly, as I frequently was in the later years of my adolescence.
It is simply quiet. A lack of drive or motivation.
It feels like I'm only living life for others. I have no purpose, no end goal, and I have no idea what I want to truly do or like. I have a slight idea, a slight direction in where I want to take things, or rather, where I should take things.
But do I really want those things? Will I really be happy? On the rare occurrences where I allow myself to think such things, I feel nothing but a bottomless pit of despair.
What if I'm on the right path? What if I don't end up liking the path I'm on? What if I'm not good enough, not smart or skillful enough for the path I wish to take?
What if I am simply wasting the time, energy, soul, and money of my family?
Are they putting their faith into someone who is bound to meet a dead end, someone who has no true future?
It always feels like I'm always behind my peers. Everyone has their lives figured out, everyone has motivation. I know it's not true, but this anxious creature in my stomach twists and burrows its knife inside me whenever I converse with others.
If I am just wasting everyone's time, is there any point in continuing? I myself have no motivation or drive. It would seem that logically, it would be more beneficial to my loved ones if I were simply to dissapear. They could then invest their resources into someone else, perhaps my brother, who could surely achieve greater things.
Suicide, for me, is the coward's way out. That is something I have come to believe in these thoughts I've had. Blunt, but brutally honest. (I want to clarify that I am only stating this in regards to my own situation. A lot of people have situations so bleak, so draining, so painful (be it abuse, addiction, poverty, etc.) that I believe it takes an immense strength to simply get up and even live and wake up in the morning for them. I am simply just not one of those people who have such a situation.)
I used to hate that phrase.
It felt so invalidating, almost like my mental struggles were simply a coward's way of thinking. Now, though, it does feel like it.
I simply do not desire to continue, because I am weak. Because I do not have the strength to face my family's potential disappointment, my future, my present self, and my lack of motivation in life.
I have more that I want to say, but it is 3AM, and I am supposed to work on an abundance of things tomorrow. I fear that this will only be part one of my idiotic, nonsensical rant.
