Pressure, pressure, pressure!
I am feeling this very heavy weight upon me as if I were being suffocated by my life, my surroundings, my fate.
What is comes down is a desire not to be here any more. I am not taking about suicide although I would be lying if I said that it was a subject I barely consider but it is more a wish to just not to be where I am currently.
Also is a desire, no, not a desire but a statement. I don’t want this.
I don’t wish to be here. I don’t want this.
Simple as that.
Going back to the suicide part though. It is alarming when you start thinking about it, the methods, the ways in which you can slip away. When you think of the sheer apathy that would meet your suicide, it becomes a tantalizing thought. My life adds nothing to the lives of people who know me, so why not? I sometimes feel it is better to die than to live your life in vain, in worthless pursuits. I have done, more or less, everything I have ever wanted to do. I have fallen in love, had the sex, gone thorough all of the emotions, read all the great and not-so-great literature etc. So what is left but death?
But a thought is all it will hopefully be. Talking about suicide is a good way of ensuring I don’t consider it as an option. If I were ever to do it, I wouldn’t talk about it or even leave a note. That is what frightens me. See, this is where thinking gets you, kids. Just don’t think too hard!
I talk about suicide in a frank manner because it is a subject that should be dealt with as frankly as possible. There is nothing shameful about it but it is something that should be talked about because talking helps. It really does. Suicide is never the answer. It is an answer but not THE answer.
I talk about suicide because I am stupid enough to throw up romantic ideals about it, noble reasons to have my candle snuffed. It is all absolute crap though. Suicide is not noble nor romantic.
But my problem is not suicide but the wish to not be here, the fact that I don’t want this. It is a denial of existence rather than the ending of existence.
I refuse this. I deny this. I don’t want this.
I don’t want to be here. That is all. Is that too much to ask for? A day without crying would be nice too.
I am naive enough still to think that one day I may be able to escape from all of this without the need for ending my life. I am grasping hold of this hope as hard as I can. But it seems less likely with each passing day.
I don’t want this but I don’t want that either.