I don’t want to die. Not really.
I want to live. To feel every emotion to its fullest. To be wildly passionate about everything. To love life.
But I hate life.
Drained, emotionless, alone.
I just don’t want to be.
To have never existed. To not of affected anyone else’s life in any way. So that my disappearing will not cause any pain.
That is why I will not die yet.
I will not allow someone else to find my body, floating in the sea, overdosed in some hotel.
I’ve thought about it several times.
But the pain I’d leave behind is enough to stop me.
I realise that yes there are people who would be affected by this. People who would be hurt and saddened. Friends left behind, family distraught.
There wouldn’t many, I think, that would be hurt. Most people I’ve ever met have all drifted away.
But I will not end myself for me.
There was a time before where I would’ve gone through with it. When I would’ve ended it all.
I was naïve back then. Mental health wasn’t something anyone taught us about. Oblivious to it all.
Suicide is not the cowards way out.
To kill yourself takes balls. You can’t be afraid of death, of hurting yourself or others.
You don’t feel like you’re being selfish because you are the problem. By getting rid of the problem you’ll benefit those around you. you simply just won’t be anymore. No you, no problem. One less person taking up oxygen, a job, a home. Living a life not worth living.
I understand why they do it.
But I am too afraid.
What if it goes wrong and I fail? End up handicapped. Put on suicide watch, hospitalised.
Who would find my body? An unexpected stranger walking his dog? A family? children?