lacustra
Student
- Jul 3, 2024
- 177
I was first suicidal when I was twenty two. I had been in acute mental pain for months, with no one to ask help from. I thought and thought, but didn't know what to do.
Suicide seemed like the only solution, only that I didn't know how to do it. I thought maybe I would overdose on paracetamol. I bought about thirty pills, but the internet told me it was a very unreliable method. You might suffer excruciating pain for days before your organs failed. I was already alone. I didn't know what I was going to do if I survived the attempt. Cried myself to sleep as usual, packed my stuff and went home the next morning.
It didn't change anything. Just bought me a couple of years.
I pretended to be okay. I still didn't have anyone to confide in or ask help from. I had lost my will to live. I didn't take care of myself. I would often starve myself. I was often absent at college. No one cared. It was basically me against the world.
I failed exam after exam. I knew it was only a matter of time until I got kicked out. I knew I was headed for disaster. Getting through even a single day felt like the hardest task I had faced. I bottled up my pain and distanced myself from the few people I knew.
The pandemic started, university closed, I returned home. My depression and anxiety got worse with every passing day. Internship was coming up. I knew I couldn't survive at a workplace. Not without help. Which I hadn't had in many long years. Or maybe a lifetime.
I started the internship. I was useless. I didn't have the skills or the knowledge that was expected of me. I didn't want to embarrass myself further. The pressure mounted until such a point that I was hyperventilating and catastrophizing 24/7. Then came the nervous breakdown. I decided to drown myself in the sea (the room I was renting was by the beach, and I can't swim.) I think I almost did it.
But I caved in again. I also had an unbearable back pain that had been going on for months. I packed my stuff and returned home, and told my parents my back hurt too much to work. They had been fighting for many years, and now they were at crisis point that they didn't even question me as to how I was doing. They just accepted it.
I never returned to college. Never applied to a job. I was thinking about suicide everyday. I knew I was going to end up killing myself at some point. But I didn't feel the time had come yet.
I went to see a psychiatrist. He prescribed me pills. They helped a little with the anxiety, but not at all with the depression. Changed meds. Took meds for a year. No improvement in mood. Still suicidal as ever. Stopped visiting the psychiatrist as he would always ask if I was going to return to the college or if I wanted to get a job. I had no answer. And I had burned through what little savings I had, paying for consultations and meds.
Another three years have elapsed. And here I am. This year has been the most painful year of all. I always tried to live in denial about how awful my life was, even when I was a child. And now it's a thousandfold worse. I have no qualifications, no money, no friends or even anyone to talk to, no prospects, no one to lean on. I have overstayed my welcome at home. It's quite likely I would be homeless within the year.
I can't blame my parents at this point, as they have fed and clothed me for almost three decades. While it's true that they made my childhood and teen years a hell, there's honestly nothing much they can do about it now. The damage has already been done.
I've decided that I'll hang myself soon. I just need to buy a stout enough rope. I've already picked one on an online platform. I just need to figure out a way to get it delivered to me without alerting anyone. There's an abandoned house nextdoor. I just need to break down the rotten door and tie the rope to a thick rafter. Hopefully the roof won't collapse on top of me before I lose consciousness.
Just two steps. And I'll be gone. I'm counting days now. Only a miracle could possibly save my life at this point. But miracles don't happen to people like me. We just fade away, and everything remains unchanged.
Perhaps there's beauty and goodness in this world. I might even have glimpsed them at some point. Sadly, I'm so very exhausted to go searching for them. I just want to erase my existence. I've had enough.
Suicide seemed like the only solution, only that I didn't know how to do it. I thought maybe I would overdose on paracetamol. I bought about thirty pills, but the internet told me it was a very unreliable method. You might suffer excruciating pain for days before your organs failed. I was already alone. I didn't know what I was going to do if I survived the attempt. Cried myself to sleep as usual, packed my stuff and went home the next morning.
It didn't change anything. Just bought me a couple of years.
I pretended to be okay. I still didn't have anyone to confide in or ask help from. I had lost my will to live. I didn't take care of myself. I would often starve myself. I was often absent at college. No one cared. It was basically me against the world.
I failed exam after exam. I knew it was only a matter of time until I got kicked out. I knew I was headed for disaster. Getting through even a single day felt like the hardest task I had faced. I bottled up my pain and distanced myself from the few people I knew.
The pandemic started, university closed, I returned home. My depression and anxiety got worse with every passing day. Internship was coming up. I knew I couldn't survive at a workplace. Not without help. Which I hadn't had in many long years. Or maybe a lifetime.
I started the internship. I was useless. I didn't have the skills or the knowledge that was expected of me. I didn't want to embarrass myself further. The pressure mounted until such a point that I was hyperventilating and catastrophizing 24/7. Then came the nervous breakdown. I decided to drown myself in the sea (the room I was renting was by the beach, and I can't swim.) I think I almost did it.
But I caved in again. I also had an unbearable back pain that had been going on for months. I packed my stuff and returned home, and told my parents my back hurt too much to work. They had been fighting for many years, and now they were at crisis point that they didn't even question me as to how I was doing. They just accepted it.
I never returned to college. Never applied to a job. I was thinking about suicide everyday. I knew I was going to end up killing myself at some point. But I didn't feel the time had come yet.
I went to see a psychiatrist. He prescribed me pills. They helped a little with the anxiety, but not at all with the depression. Changed meds. Took meds for a year. No improvement in mood. Still suicidal as ever. Stopped visiting the psychiatrist as he would always ask if I was going to return to the college or if I wanted to get a job. I had no answer. And I had burned through what little savings I had, paying for consultations and meds.
Another three years have elapsed. And here I am. This year has been the most painful year of all. I always tried to live in denial about how awful my life was, even when I was a child. And now it's a thousandfold worse. I have no qualifications, no money, no friends or even anyone to talk to, no prospects, no one to lean on. I have overstayed my welcome at home. It's quite likely I would be homeless within the year.
I can't blame my parents at this point, as they have fed and clothed me for almost three decades. While it's true that they made my childhood and teen years a hell, there's honestly nothing much they can do about it now. The damage has already been done.
I've decided that I'll hang myself soon. I just need to buy a stout enough rope. I've already picked one on an online platform. I just need to figure out a way to get it delivered to me without alerting anyone. There's an abandoned house nextdoor. I just need to break down the rotten door and tie the rope to a thick rafter. Hopefully the roof won't collapse on top of me before I lose consciousness.
Just two steps. And I'll be gone. I'm counting days now. Only a miracle could possibly save my life at this point. But miracles don't happen to people like me. We just fade away, and everything remains unchanged.
Perhaps there's beauty and goodness in this world. I might even have glimpsed them at some point. Sadly, I'm so very exhausted to go searching for them. I just want to erase my existence. I've had enough.
