Every day that you think about killing yourself, the numbers are something other than alive: 100, dead: 0. Every day that you fight and drag yourself up by the pant cuffs, the numbers were always 50 for ending it and half an opportunity and the fight is done, life lost.
It’s as scary as hell. It used to take me 20 or 30 to notice I was down before I even threw my hat into the ring and started fighting. Thankfully with some training and medication I now notice it at maybe 5 or 10, the fight is so much easier but it takes constant vigilance.
I need to vent right now.
It’s not selfish or abandoning the living or anything like that. When people have a dog that’s in pain and don’t put it down it’s considered cruel. When people want to be put down, when they want it to end, when they’re so upset with life that they’re willing to go against that innate instinct to survive and they put themselves down like a dog everyone blames them and calls them selfish for ending their personal hell. People have told me that it would be selfish if I were to end it. If I put people through enough to make it selfish for me to want to end it, the affected people can go right ahead and commit suicide too. Otherwise how can it be selfish if it probably won’t drive others to the same measures that I consider?
From the outside it looks like I live in paradise, I’m 19 and have no responsibilities, I get to sit on a computer all day and do nothing. But doing nothing is no way to live. I have only one friend, I see him maybe once every 3 months and between that it’s just text. The only social interaction I have is with brothers nearly a decade younger than me and parents closer to three decades older than me. And the Internet gets boring, so I’m left thinking about how I’m a burden even if my parents won’t admit it. I’m just a waste of space, I have no skills, I know the only thing that will make my life better is work and yet I can’t even motivate myself to put in applications. It takes a lot to want to die, even if from the outside it appears as if a suicide victim had everything. And while I say “want to die” it’s not that I want to die. I don’t want death. I don’t even want to be dead without dying. I want to live, but not how I am living. How I am living is just so undesirable to me that death is the better alternative to hoping that I will get to where I want to be. The risk of living through this much longer is not worth the potential reward of a good life. I have an appointment coming up soon to see a doctor or psychiatrist or something, but if shit doesn’t change for me soon I’ll have no choice in my mind.