2024-06-07

Another Suicide Attempt

Revision 1

I attempted suicide again a couple of days ago. Was really close this time, too. It wasn't like the last couple of attempts where I secretly hoped I'd survive, and that the attempt will spur people to notice me and would somehow (God only knows how) help me. No, this time it was for real. I really, genuinely, felt like I wanted to stop existing. The pain was simply overwhelming. All my attempts to control myself and tell myself this is momentary, that this too shall pass, that I was in this situation before, that come next morning I'll forget all about it… Nothing worked. In the moment, I just felt pain, and I saw no other way to make it go away. It was like tunnel vision of the soul.

It was a very impulsive decision, one made when I was drunk. It's been a while since I drank, at least in these amounts and alone. The entire memory is hazy now. I bought a rope and made a noose, and started tying it around a tree in the city park. By chance a police officer was just passing by and he stopped me. Then three more officers showed up – no idea where from – and then almost immediately an ambulance arrived. I avoided resisting and just went along with the medic. He took me to the emergency room, where I was put under supervision by two orderlies. Neither of them seemed to care that much, and by simply walking around a lot and frustrating them with "bathroom breaks" I managed to slip out and head back home. I collapsed in my bed and fell asleep. A few hours later I was woken up by a phone call. The woman on the other end identified herself as a psychiatrist from the hospital. I barely remember what was said in that conversation, but I do remember saying I'm okay now and that I sobered up. Both were lies, but what else was I supposed to say? All I hoped is that the police won't come knocking at the door to drag me away to the psych ward.

If I really wanted to, I could've just done it again. There was no one and nothing to stop me. At every point during that terrible afternoon, besides maybe when I was with the police, I was not under any sort of real restraint.

Was it a call for help? I don't know. As stated before, my previous two attempts were calls for help. This time it felt different. I think this time it was still a "call for help", with the difference being that I no longer believe that there is help out there for me. And yet I distinctly remembering thinking of where to do the deed, and deciding against just doing it at home. Partially because I couldn't think of where to tie the rope inside my apartment, but maybe because subconsciously I hoped to be caught? Again, I don't know. I didn't feel glad when I saw the police officer calling out to me. My first instinctual response was a vague sense of "oh fuck, playtime's over, now it's time to go back to reality". I don't know how else to describe it, or to explain it.

If I were thinking clearly, I would've done it differently. I wouldn't walk into the hardware store all red-eyed and whimpering. I would've calmly taken the rope, with some lubricant, way up into the woods and found a quiet spot there. There would've been no one to stop me then. But if I were thinking clearly, I probably wouldn't have wanted to go through with it in the first place.

Why did I do it? All my suicide attempts had two things in common: Alcohol, and a sense of rejection. I was rejected in no uncertain terms by a girl, and that caused me pain. So I drank to try and make the pain go away – despite the fact that I know from experience that it only makes everything worse. I drank a fuckton and cried, for the first time in a long time. Finally letting it all out. All my loneliness and frustration and self-loathing. The one thought that kept echoing in my mind was the idea that a life spent alone is not a life worth living. Even now, two days later, having calmed down and thoroughly sobered up, I still agree with that statement. Despite all my confusion and self-doubts, it's that principle – that suicide is preferable to a lifetime of loneliness – that remains rock solid and steady. Every fiber in my being aligns with this simple statement. It's like a singular lighthouse in a turbulent sea, something that's been with me for so long I can't imagine living without it.

I have spent my entire life waiting. Waiting for something good to happen. This something good is not necessarily a relationship. It could even be some sort of change in life circumstances where I can finally feel like I'm surrounded by people who don't judge me. To somehow find a closely-knit circle of like-minded friends. To escape into a more peaceful physical place. To find a family.And, well, something good did happen, for a brief while. I did have a girlfriend, one that I was willing to do anything and put up with everything for. But that little window of happiness has closed. I failed even at that. Or, I suppose, it's always been a failure; our relationship was a stillborn, and she was simply too mentally ill to notice. But I noticed right off the bat. She was prettier and younger than me. She still had so much potential, and I stole two years of her life to fulfill my own selfish desires. I am thankful for having experienced it, but I'm also ashamed for having done it. I knew everything was wrong, yet I was willing to put up with it just to maintain her presence in my life.

How do others do it? How do they live their lives without these feelings and thoughts? How can anyone take anything else seriously? I suppose that for the vast majority of people, it's not much of an issue. Falling in love and marrying is a universal experience. The ones who don't experience it are the exception. Some – the lucky ones – do it by choice. But for the unlucky ones who are forced into it – how the fuck are we supposed to cope? It's a form of stunted development. It's a basic need that goes unfulfilled, and if it remains unfulfilled for long enough (especially during one's formative years), it can cause terrible pathologies. For me, it's turned into a morbid obsession, one that is literally debilitating.

Why am I alone? Why, even at the age of 28, have I only been in one (weird & unhealthy) relationship? What is wrong with me?

I just don't know. I don't fucking know, and nobody is willing to tell me. Is it my looks? Is it my social awkwardness? Am I just too weak-willed? Have I not tried hard enough? Or maybe tried too hard? Am I simply unlucky? Or am I cursed?

I don't fucking know. I'm sick and tired of this existence. I lie to myself and to others that I can live like this, but I can't. I feel inferior, I feel undeserving. I want someone to talk to, I want someone to be with, I want to not feel so alone anymore. And yes, I want sex, and I want hugs, and I want to cuddle. I want physical touch. I am quite literally touch-starved. All these desires are burning deep inside me and no matter what I say, or do, or force myself to think, I can't put out that fire. I can't suppress it. It's killing me from the inside.

I don't see the point of getting up in the morning. I don't see any point in trying to improve my life. I can't go back to college, no. The feelings of inadequacy would just annihilate me again, and I'll drop out for a third time.

I just wish someone would explain why am I like this. Like, what the fuck is wrong with me. Why is this stuff so difficult for me? Am I really such a bad person? Am I really just ugly, or what? What did I do to deserve this soul-crushing isolation? Why am I obsessed with it? Why can't I just live out my life alone? Why can't I be happy inside my little unperturbed cocoon?

I've seen guys who are much uglier or more autistic than me not struggle at all to find and maintain a relationship. So it's probably not my looks and not my social incompetence. The only real option that remains is that… I just don't deserve it. I must be a terrible person in some way that I am blind to. Or maybe I'm not blind to it after all. I'm a selfish piece of shit and a liar. I already know that. But I don't know how to fix it. I tried so hard to be better, and I can't. I can't change. I change, but never in a good way.

And if so, what is the point? Like, literally, what the fuck is the point of my existence? Humanity would be better off without me. I contribute nothing and I just leech society's resources. I suck my poor old mother dry. I keep wishing for friends or a girlfriend, but I would never want to be my own friend or my own partner. I just suck. I am a pathetic little worm who loves to feel sorry for itself. And unlike other scumbags, I have no alternative skills. I can't manipulate others and I don't have good looks. I have nothing. I don't even get lucky. I just get to sit down and rot away in my self-imposed prison.

This is awful. I feel awful. I can't bring myself to face reality, because it's just too painful. Nothing interests me anymore, and I can't take anything seriously. It's gotten to the point where the mere mention of relationship, marriage, "my wife", "my husband", "my partner", or anything even tangentially related to dating, it all triggers me. I can't take these things anymore. The mere mention of them instantly ruins my mood and destroys even my most tentative attempts to get back up on my feet.

I can't escape into alcoholism, I can't escape into cannabis. No substance really helps anymore. All these fucking psychiatric meds do nothing. I tried talking about this stuff with my therapist, but he doesn't seem to understand just how deep-rooted and painful these subjects are for me. He wants me to learn to "work around this desire" for companionship, and I suppose that's what I ought to do, but I've been trying to "work around" it for months. Years. Decades, even. I can't. I just can't. It's deeper than any conscious thought. I can't even bring it into words, at least not with any sort of precision. But I suppose I can try.

Revision 2

Everything written above was written two or three days ago, meaning it's been 4 or 5 days now. Reading it I find myself technically agreeing with everything written, but somehow none of that stuff seems to have that much of an emotional impact as it had before. That is not to say I feel anything close to happy or satisfied now, I just feel numb to it all. Which is an improvement, I guess.

I have no urge to kill myself. I also don't feel entirely lonely right now, and I assume the two are related.

Honestly, I feel embarrassed about the whole ordeal. I don't have much self-respect, but still. Committing suicide over some girl just saying "no thanks, I'd rather we'd stay friends" (and in the most gentle and caring way possible!) is stupid. I'm glad I haven't managed to go through with it.

I suck at dealing with rejection of any form. The idea that someone else might have a bad opinion of me is intolerable. What I fear most is to be seen as annoying, clingy or creepy.

Procrastinating

It's been like 2-3 weeks since I said I'll start looking for a job, and I haven't done it yet. There's also a bunch of stuff I've been meaning to do, and every day I fail to even start. I can't seem to find the motivation to do anything, really. How do I actually pass my ample free time?

I noticed that I tend to enjoy things the most when I procrastinate. I only ever have motivation to do stuff when I know it's not what I'm supposed to be doing. I have no idea how to explain it. Even if I have literally nothing to do other than the thing I've set for myself, I'll still find ways to waste away hours on end, just to keep telling myself "after this one YouTube video", or "after this game", or "I'll browse Twitter for a while". Then I masturbate, then I need me some time to chill after masturbating, then it's dinner time, then I must wash the dishes, then I'm already on my feet so I might as well do the laundry, oh and I have a podcast on while I'm doing house chores, so I might as well do a couple of games of Balatro or some Minecraft stuff. Hey, that episode was pretty enjoyable, I'll play the next one! And then I get bored and distracted 10-15 minutes into the next episode because a certain detail was interesting and I ended up opening 30+ semi-related Wikipedia tabs while the podcast keeps blaring in the background. So I look at the time and what would you know, it's already 9 PM. It's "bedtime", which is to say it's time for me to smoke some weed and keep doing asinine bullshit for 6 more hours, because now I get to procrastinate on showering, brushing my teeth and going to bed. Eventually, only when I'm so tired I am literally falling asleep in my chair, I go to bed. I wake up at noon, make me some coffee and breakfast, and the whole cycle begins again.

I have too much free time, but it also feels like time keeps slipping through my fingers. Minutes melt into hours which in turn blur into days that turn into weeks. Everything is in constant flux, while nothing fundamentally changes.

I say to myself "tomorrow will be different", knowing full well that it won't be.

In the past I would use this time to familiarize myself with new stuff. Experience new TV shows, or read new books, or play new games. Now I just rot in the same old 4-5 activities that allow me to pass the time the most painlessly. Nothing really interests me anything, nothing can hold my attention for too long.

What's weird is that this feeling occasionally goes away. Every now and then I find or get something new that will allow me to get swallowed up in it for a while. It's the greatest feeling in the world (well, other than falling in the love, or sex). Last time it happened was when I decided to give Star Wars: Andor a go. It was a pretty cool show! I usually hate Star Wars and find it boring and tedious, but that show didn't feel like Star Wars at all. It was good!

Before Andor, it was Disenchantment, a show created by the guy who made the Simpsons and Futurama. It's nowhere near as good as those two, but it's still pretty okay, and I spent entire days binge watching all five seasons without stop.

I recently got a Thrustmaster steering wheel to connect to my PC, and for a couple of days that was cool too. I got the urge to plug it in and play some Assetto Corsa multiple times while typing this document. But… Well, it was cool in the beginning, but the novelty it quickly wearing off. It's just so much effort to set up, for a play session that I know will last no more than 60 minutes at most, and will probably be closer to half an hour.

It's really sad because these periods of hyperfocus are becoming rarer and rarer as I get older. It takes a lot more novelty to get to excited. I feel like I've "seen it all". Nothing excites me or interests me the way it used to. Nothing feels really new or fresh. "Serious" subject matters that used to preoccupy a lot of my mental energy (things like politics, economics and religion) feel pointless to the extreme. Everything and everyone is so shallow and trite. Even when something is new, it just passes by me as I go "oh, I guess that's a thing now" and move on.

Again, I don't feel particularly lonely right now, but I still feel profoundly dissatisfied with my life. I need to get my shit together and try and make something out of myself, but I also know that I won't be doing it. I see no real point.

There's a lot of stuff I've been meaning to do, or try, or finish, which I simply don't do. Games like Spiritfarer and OMORI have been on my hard drive for months, and I still haven't touched them. I started our the new Suzerain expansion pack, Kingdom of Rizia, and even though I love it, I just can't ever bring myself to play. I've been meaning to read a book I borrowed from the library for a while now, but I can't get past the first chapter. I also want to read The Republic for Which It Stands and reread The Inheritance of Rome (because I've been listening to a lot of Roman history podcasting for a while now), but I never seem to "find the time", despite the fact I have nothing but time on my hands now. Hell, I've had a shortcut to the Wikipedia article on Diocletian on my desktop for like 3 weeks now, and I've yet to finish reading it.

Is this normal? Is it depression? Is it ADHD? Who the fuck knows.

Well, I feel better now, so I might as well go not do what I've been planning on not doing. Life is fun like that. We've been given the smallest sliver of conscious existence in a functionally infinite universe, between billions of years of nonexistence on either side, and this is how I chose to spend it. I'll be full of nothing but regrets on my deathbed. Hell, I am filled with nothing by regrets now. I feel regret for the future. Truly, I am a loser.