LIFE SUCKS

Window into a suicidal mind

I am writing this letter as an effort to leave something behind for others to read and grasp an understanding of what my thinking ability was at the time of composing this letter, or perhaps to gain some insight that will help them appreciate what they have in their respective lives. I have never done anything extraordinary with my life, never cured an infectious disease, never won a championship on an athletic field, and never made a difference in lives in any measurably positive way. I am an ordinary person, fighting demons of his own creation that no one but me could define or even sense, and that battle has finally come to an end.

I have taken the time to read over as many different suicide letters as I could given the restraints I have, and many start off with the definition of Insanity as doing the same thing over and over and over again but expecting different results. Perhaps suicide would have some application to that definition as most suicides would agree that doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results describe them on a day to day basis, but suicide has nothing to do with being insane. Suicide is neither a phenomenon to be studied nor an illness to be “cured”. There is no cure. Suicide is a point in one person’s life where the coping resources they have at their disposal are overwhelmed by whatever is it they are being tortured by. I wont go into specifics regarding my situation, but I can assure you that my demons are real and extremely powerful as are the demons that torture any potential suicidal person. Suicide has been described as a selfish action, I have to agree that in some ways it most certainly is, but it is also selfish for members of society to think it’s the responsibility of a certain individual to keep living a painful, torturous existence as an obligation instead of seeking their own cure for that pain.

Its difficult to define what makes each person up as individuals and members of society, each of us is given a different hand in life, we all play the hands we are given, different cards for different people.

The “cards” we are all given should to some degree contain coping resources, which allow us to put into context whatever it is that happens in our lives in both a positive and negative sense. Some have extraordinary reservoirs to call upon in dealing with whatever happens in life, some of these people still lose their battles, still others have little to none but live long and happy lives, with others living lives somewhere in between both ends of this spectrum.

I don’t understand exactly what it is that gives this “dark cloud” I have its energy, in fact it doesn’t even occupy a tangible form, but it has amazing power and grasp over me. This battle I have been fighting with it is exhausting, and I have finally seen that this battle is unwinnable, that it is a battle I would have to fight for the rest of my life, and that is something I would never be able to do. How could I continue fighting this? It would be impossible especially thinking of all the joy in life the blackness has already robbed me of. I had thought, incorrectly of course, that if I channeled my energy on positive endeavors that I could work to control the “dark cloud” perhaps even eventually emerge victorious over it. Perhaps if I went to the gym and got in better shape, kept the house as clean as possible, took care of all chores on my own without outside help, even volunteer work that I would eventually triumph over this evil I carried around. But I was wrong, there was nothing I could do to control it. I couldn’t fight it anymore than a man can get into a fist fight with himself. This dark cloud wasn’t a part of me, it was me. I don’t know why I thought any of this would have made a difference, in fact it just crushed me even more under my own sense of inadequacy as I could never hope to accomplish all that I planned in my head in the time frame I gave myself. Perhaps it was worth a shot, just to expand all possible avenues.

I often find myself watching people, people who go about their daily lives and routines able to feel love and return it in its purest form. Able to experience the joy of accomplishment, in whatever sense accomplishment and success can be defined. Able to deal with the ups and downs of life that occur all the time and able to form strong long lasting friendships and relationships as easily as ordering coffee. I then find myself confused, these people must hate themselves as I hate myself right? Do they conceal it, as I do, under carefully constructed facades that no one can see through? Shouldn’t they expect that at any moment their own shame and embarrassment present itself and crush them under the gravity of its intensity? But it never will, because for them no blackness exists at all, sure they have their own problems and issues, but it will never crush them. In fact to these people the mere thought of hating themselves is as ridiculous as saying the moon is made from blue cheese. The thought of suicide never even enters their head no matter what happens to them. Their own lives, as precarious and fleeting as life is, is the most important and valuable object they have. I never thought of my own life having any value or any worth, to me it was never even worth the value of the paper the birth certificate had been printed on. For a time I thought these people were slightly delusional, didn’t they realize at any time all this means nothing, and could be taken away? Didn’t they see the futility of competition and fruitless endeavor that planning a life is as sooner or later everything ends? No of course they didn’t, and to me it was my own private joke, I laughed inside at these people, all the while smiling, shaking their hands, asking supercilious questions about superficial subjects that I couldn’t care less about, while they answered these questions I asked, and followed with the same ridiculous questions of me. Then it struck me, as powerful as lightening, these people are living their lives as lives are to be led. They have no “blackness” holding them down, no sensation of weights being dragged behind them, and certainly no thoughts of suicide as that word has no contemplation to them. My own private joke wasn’t with myself on them, it was a joke on me. I wasn’t laughing at them, I was laughing at myself.

For me this dark cloud is all consuming. I find myself looking forward to sleeping at night as it is my only reprieve from this dark cloud but when I wake up, the dark cloud is waiting for me, in the deepest recesses of my mind, where no one can see it or feel it but me. There is nothing I can do to escape it, it consumes me as fully as any person can be consumed. I find myself afraid, afraid of what I would do should this anger no longer be directed inwards to myself, what would happen should I incorrectly channel it outwards. I don’t think myself capable of doing anything like this, but I have terrible thoughts from time to time. Irrational thoughts, I must stop it, I must end this before I do something that could never be undone.

I find myself sitting for long periods of time wondering what life might have been like had I been made out as a stronger person, had this dark cloud, this anger turned upon myself not existed and I have to say it sounds quite enjoyable. I had always expected, even wished dare I say, to one day be a father. I think I would have made a decent father, but the dark cloud would not have allowed me to enjoy that, it would have crushed me under the trappings and failings that would have occurred and I would have found any enjoyable times bulldozed aside by my own all consuming self-hatred.

Well as I stated above I wrote this letter to give the reader’s a better view into the mind of a suicidal person while they are still alive. In reading it do any of you feel someone like this could be saved? That someone like this could lead a happy life for themselves? Find their own slice of peace in life?

Draw your own conclusions, find your own answers, but don’t question why some people choose to end their own lives by their own hands. I have often heard suicide described as a permanent solution to a temporary problem, but for me it would be a permanent solution to a permanent problem. Judge if you will, criticize if you must but realize that pain such as this has no beginning and no end, and nothing will ever end it except for finding the root cause. That root cause lying in continuation of life itself.