This isn't meant to be eloquent or inspirational. It's not directed at sympathy. Maybe typing this out will give me the courage to finally go through with it. I'm 40 this year, and life has been especially unkind lately. I don't know if it's the anger in the country, the corporations making life harder, or just the feeling of life becoming unbearable.
I'm black, gay, not conventionally attractive. A regular guy if you will. You wouldn't notice me in a room. I had a rough childhood where I was often made to feel like a mistake. Despite this, I always pushed forward, holding onto the hope of better possibilities because the future, at least, offered a different outcome.
My family wasn't perfect, but I tried to find love in the assurances they offered, even when those connections became conditional. It probably started with my dad, who turned out to be a headline-grabbing asshole, and my mother never forgot to remind me. He would create arguments to drive the point they were incompatible. So he left and quickly found himself a new family to play house with. I have stepbrothers and sisters I'll never know in this life. And for the most part, I don't even care. Knowing them would only push the blade deeper into my heart. Discarded anyway.
The rest of my family was preoccupied with their own storylines, and my mom did the best she could. But I was left alone while she put her energy into another disaster of a relationship. I kept to myself, managing to raise myself without safety and pushing forward.
I sought out friendships. As I once read, friendships are the family you choose. I loved hard, carelessly, consistently, but more often ended up being taken advantage of and eventually losing touch and feeling with those I cared about. Still, I pushed forward.
In my youth, I dedicated myself to the church, hoping it could be my anchor. The stories of unconditional love and promises of paradise if I followed the doctrine drew me in. As I got older, I didn't understand the feelings I was having, but I knew and was taught that they were wrong, that eternal damnation awaited me if I lingered in them. I committed myself fully, hoping for a religious experience that never came. I cosplayed the ideas and repeated the empty hymns, never once feeling anything that would connect and anchor me. Eventually, I saw past the veil and gave it up, putting my energy into my career instead.
As a young adult, I dedicated 14 years to the same company. It's not one of those sob stories—this company has been the wealthiest in the world for the last decade. I always went above and beyond, working through holidays, being the reliable one, trying to show them I was special, even if I didn't believe it. Yet, I was overlooked for promotions and often humiliated as new obstacles emerged that were never discussed, preventing my upward mobility. I knew it had more to do with my black skin than my lack of trying. I would hear offhand comments about my education and ability. There were scandals, inappropriate relationships between seniors and staff. I kept to myself, quiet, letting my work tell my story. The CEO even wrote to me twice, "exemplary work!" I knew his assistants wrote them out, but finally, they see me! I watched mediocre colleagues succeed while I was nitpicked and discarded. Still there, stuck, unable to find a new job that wouldn't leave me in poverty. Here, so many people are homeless, walking around just trying to survive. And I know I should be appreciative because if I stop working, that is a guarantee I would be on that same sidewalk.
As I've aged, health issues have emerged. I tried to adapt and push forward, but even the healthiest lifestyle couldn't offset the challenges. I started questioning why I even wanted to live longer.
In love, I wasn't picky. I always felt I had so much love to give. I dreamed of true, unconditional love, family gatherings, and proud parent moments. Yet, every relationship ended in heartbreak, with partners taking advantage of my vulnerability.
The last "situationship" lasted nearly 10 years. It often left me feeling unwanted, ugly, and damaged. My self-worth crumbled. But I stuck around because, after being denied for so long, I concluded this was the best I could ever hope for. Maybe one day, they would see that I've always been there. Birthdays were ruined, plans canceled, secrets were kept from me. On an outing with some friends, at the announcement of a life being brought into the world, it felt close to a connection until someone who was uninvited showed up to ruin the event. They took it upon themselves to tear me down, tears filling my eyes. I looked to the person I trusted most in the world, and they joined in on the tears. They laughed. He shared my every insecurity, things I didn't even know he hated about me. Mortified, I left. I had a panic attack in my Uber. I hid my heartbreak out of embarrassment.
I pushed forward to leave that toxic situation, but the pain compounded, making me question my worth and the purpose of my existence.
I sought therapy, but with each session, I felt more certain that I didn't want this life anymore. I no longer have interest in money, opportunities, or anything. I've given my heart to the wrong people, always searching for love and safety that I never found.
At 40, the things I hoped to accomplish seem like distant dreams. My social life has dwindled. I go to work, eat lunch alone, drive home, make a meal, and go to bed. On days off, I often stay in bed all day. Connections feel too foreign and require too much effort.
I think daily about how it will end. I fantasize about dying, no longer afraid of death but yearning for the peace of nothingness. I don't believe in heaven or hell, just tales to keep people in line. I want nothing—no afterlife, no reincarnation, no emotions, just nothingness.
I'm tired. I no longer feel sadness, anger, or anything—just exhaustion. The world was never meant for me, and I was never meant for it. It has always been for nothing.
I'm black, gay, not conventionally attractive. A regular guy if you will. You wouldn't notice me in a room. I had a rough childhood where I was often made to feel like a mistake. Despite this, I always pushed forward, holding onto the hope of better possibilities because the future, at least, offered a different outcome.
My family wasn't perfect, but I tried to find love in the assurances they offered, even when those connections became conditional. It probably started with my dad, who turned out to be a headline-grabbing asshole, and my mother never forgot to remind me. He would create arguments to drive the point they were incompatible. So he left and quickly found himself a new family to play house with. I have stepbrothers and sisters I'll never know in this life. And for the most part, I don't even care. Knowing them would only push the blade deeper into my heart. Discarded anyway.
The rest of my family was preoccupied with their own storylines, and my mom did the best she could. But I was left alone while she put her energy into another disaster of a relationship. I kept to myself, managing to raise myself without safety and pushing forward.
I sought out friendships. As I once read, friendships are the family you choose. I loved hard, carelessly, consistently, but more often ended up being taken advantage of and eventually losing touch and feeling with those I cared about. Still, I pushed forward.
In my youth, I dedicated myself to the church, hoping it could be my anchor. The stories of unconditional love and promises of paradise if I followed the doctrine drew me in. As I got older, I didn't understand the feelings I was having, but I knew and was taught that they were wrong, that eternal damnation awaited me if I lingered in them. I committed myself fully, hoping for a religious experience that never came. I cosplayed the ideas and repeated the empty hymns, never once feeling anything that would connect and anchor me. Eventually, I saw past the veil and gave it up, putting my energy into my career instead.
As a young adult, I dedicated 14 years to the same company. It's not one of those sob stories—this company has been the wealthiest in the world for the last decade. I always went above and beyond, working through holidays, being the reliable one, trying to show them I was special, even if I didn't believe it. Yet, I was overlooked for promotions and often humiliated as new obstacles emerged that were never discussed, preventing my upward mobility. I knew it had more to do with my black skin than my lack of trying. I would hear offhand comments about my education and ability. There were scandals, inappropriate relationships between seniors and staff. I kept to myself, quiet, letting my work tell my story. The CEO even wrote to me twice, "exemplary work!" I knew his assistants wrote them out, but finally, they see me! I watched mediocre colleagues succeed while I was nitpicked and discarded. Still there, stuck, unable to find a new job that wouldn't leave me in poverty. Here, so many people are homeless, walking around just trying to survive. And I know I should be appreciative because if I stop working, that is a guarantee I would be on that same sidewalk.
As I've aged, health issues have emerged. I tried to adapt and push forward, but even the healthiest lifestyle couldn't offset the challenges. I started questioning why I even wanted to live longer.
In love, I wasn't picky. I always felt I had so much love to give. I dreamed of true, unconditional love, family gatherings, and proud parent moments. Yet, every relationship ended in heartbreak, with partners taking advantage of my vulnerability.
The last "situationship" lasted nearly 10 years. It often left me feeling unwanted, ugly, and damaged. My self-worth crumbled. But I stuck around because, after being denied for so long, I concluded this was the best I could ever hope for. Maybe one day, they would see that I've always been there. Birthdays were ruined, plans canceled, secrets were kept from me. On an outing with some friends, at the announcement of a life being brought into the world, it felt close to a connection until someone who was uninvited showed up to ruin the event. They took it upon themselves to tear me down, tears filling my eyes. I looked to the person I trusted most in the world, and they joined in on the tears. They laughed. He shared my every insecurity, things I didn't even know he hated about me. Mortified, I left. I had a panic attack in my Uber. I hid my heartbreak out of embarrassment.
I pushed forward to leave that toxic situation, but the pain compounded, making me question my worth and the purpose of my existence.
I sought therapy, but with each session, I felt more certain that I didn't want this life anymore. I no longer have interest in money, opportunities, or anything. I've given my heart to the wrong people, always searching for love and safety that I never found.
At 40, the things I hoped to accomplish seem like distant dreams. My social life has dwindled. I go to work, eat lunch alone, drive home, make a meal, and go to bed. On days off, I often stay in bed all day. Connections feel too foreign and require too much effort.
I think daily about how it will end. I fantasize about dying, no longer afraid of death but yearning for the peace of nothingness. I don't believe in heaven or hell, just tales to keep people in line. I want nothing—no afterlife, no reincarnation, no emotions, just nothingness.
I'm tired. I no longer feel sadness, anger, or anything—just exhaustion. The world was never meant for me, and I was never meant for it. It has always been for nothing.
