clyde radcliffe
Greenlighter
I stumbled upon this forum topic whilst morbidly scouring the internet for some quick, painless way to commit suicide... which probably doesn't exist.
I read a lot of other threads on other pages on this topic, and they all seem to devolve into long lines of people telling the suicidal person they're stupid for wanting to kill themselves, or telling them to find god, etc. etc.... I don't want to cause controversy... but I really believe people have the right to kill themselves if things get too bad - and it's better that they get good information on how to do it than mess up and end up braindead in a psychiatric ward.
I'm not going to ask how to do it. I'm not sure if I have, or will ever have the guts to do it. I wish I lived in America and guns were easilly available.... I got a copy of the book 'Final Exit' today, which is a pro-euthanasia book designed to help those in too much pain die with dignity. I'll be reading it straight after posting this. I'm not even sure why I'm posting this. Maybe I really do want someone to talk me out of it. Maybe I really want someone to tell me some magic method I'm not aware of. What I do know is that my life has become patently unliveable.
I'm nearly thirty years old and I have been too mentally ill to work since I was a teenager. I've tried all the proper methods of counselling, therapy, medication, etcetera, and none of it has worked for me. If I'm lucky I get to see a psychiachrist once every three or four months, which is useless - I can't afford to pay for private healthcare. I don't know whether I'm better off than someone in the States, who may have to pay to see a psychiachrist at all, and I don't want to whinge on too much, but all the professional methods have failed me. I can't talk to my friends about what's going on in my head anymore. Everyone I have been honest with before has ended up becoming overwhelmed and distanced themselves from me. If I tell people how I feel, I end losing those people - friends, girlfriends, and family have all abandoned me, simply for my depression and suicidal thoughts.
I was like this way before I took any drugs. I can't tell my psychiachrists I've taken illegal drugs as they'd immediatley view that as the whole of the problem, which it most definitely isn't. I was losing the plot two years before I even had my first cigarette, my first joint, my first drink. If anything, for a good while, drugs have helped me survive this long.
Weed has always helped me sleep but I can't afford it all the time and it doesn't help with my self confidence one bit. Alcohol has recently become more helpful to me too but again, money is an issue. If I could afford to be drunk & stoned every day I wouldn't have much of a problem - or at least I could hide from the problem successfully.
For the last year I have been taking ketamin on average every other weekend and found it really helped lift my mood. I had one particular experience which I will probably fail to explain in a way that does it justice, but I'll attempt to: I just remember feeling at the peak of the trip that everything was suddenly alright and that a massive weight had been lifted off my shoulders. For days and even weeks afterwards, I thought "it's just a drug, no more real than any number of antidepressants" but my mood stayed good for a long, long time. I read up on some of the supposedly antidepressant effects that K can have and they made a lot of sense. A friend of mine reported a similar experience.
Eventually though I did become depressed again, bit by bit. I wanted to sort my life out, stop sitting in a room every day of my life hunched over a keyboard, avoiding social contact. I hadnt had a girlfriend or any sexual contact for years. I wanted to be normal again and I felt ketamin had helped me out of a bad patch. So I kept going back to it whenever I was down and wanted to remind myself of what it was like to enjoy life. That's when things really fucked up. I had 2 trips that were very out of the ordinary, and the second one has put me off ket for good.
In the first, I kept waking up in different parallel universes that were ever so slightly different from my own. The room and the person I was with would change in subtle ways. It was more like a dream I couldn't wake up from. I was talking to my friend in the trip, and was relieved to find out when I camedown that I hadn't actually been talking in reality.
In the second, the same happened, but I forgot I had taken a drug. Weird thing was, the K was overcooked and burnt looking and didn't seem to be getting any of us that fucked beyond a buzz. It wasn't till the last line that I went back into the dream state from the last trip. This time, I couldnt remember how I got there. I was convinced a week had gone by since my last trip, and that I had finally lost the plot. My brain had redrawn everything in the room itself, and I could see the cracks and the seams, the inconsistencies that proved the world I was in was a fake.
I went through loads of these different "parallel universes" trying to find my way back, not sure what I would come back to. In each one, the two friends I was with became increasingly more twisted looking, like corpses that had been sewn back together, or robots designed to fool me into thinking they were my friends. When I finally came back to reality, I was terrified, not even sure whether this was just going to be another repeat of the same scene over and over - me telling my friends they weren't really real, they looked wrong, trying to escape somehow, waking up again, asking them what had just happened, telling them they weren't real again.... it was a loop that seemed to go round and round for hours. At one point before I came down, I "woke up" in a mental hospital and was told I'd been there for the last twenty years. When I looked in a mirror, I was older, looking nearly fifty, and I believed I was really there. By this point the badly stitched together humans had become things that looked like living severed limbs and heads stuck to random pieces of machinery, prams and other inanimate objects. I really believed I had gone mad for good.
If that wasn't enough to scare me off ever doing hallucinogenics again (which I have always had a good track record with up till now, even during the odd bad acid trip) I was mortified to discover that I had actually been running round my friend's house shouting about how the people I was with weren't real. Over and over and over. I was lucky I hadn't smashed anything up, or run out into the road. I was lucky I was with good friends who did their best to look after me. I was hideously embarassed and more scared than I'd ever been in my life.
I expected to begin feeling better from this soon, but the only time the images don't pop back into my head and start scaring me again is when I'm thinking about the real problems I have now. K was my last crutch and it feels like it's been kicked away from me. I can never risk doing it again - but it was all I had left. Now I feel empty, as bleak as I was happy from the good trip I described earlier. I can't wait months on end for this feeling to disappear. I want to sort my life out but I don't believe everyone can. I don't believe everyone in the world is as equally likely to be successful as others, which is what therapists try and kid you into believing. I believe some people are born messes, and die messes, and I really wish I could convince myself I wasn't one of those.
This post is probably far too long, I really needed to get all this off my chest, and I apologise for ranting so much. I just don't know what to do. I am terrified of losing my friends and I have no family to fall back on. I am terrified of losing the plot again and finding myself homeless or in mental hospital, which has happened to me before. None of my recent achievements seem to mean anything to me, all I can focus on is the bad, and all I can think about is killing myself. I'm not even sure why I thought posting this here would be appropriate or helpful to anyone. I feel a little better for writing it all out, at least.
Thanks for reading this.
I read a lot of other threads on other pages on this topic, and they all seem to devolve into long lines of people telling the suicidal person they're stupid for wanting to kill themselves, or telling them to find god, etc. etc.... I don't want to cause controversy... but I really believe people have the right to kill themselves if things get too bad - and it's better that they get good information on how to do it than mess up and end up braindead in a psychiatric ward.
I'm not going to ask how to do it. I'm not sure if I have, or will ever have the guts to do it. I wish I lived in America and guns were easilly available.... I got a copy of the book 'Final Exit' today, which is a pro-euthanasia book designed to help those in too much pain die with dignity. I'll be reading it straight after posting this. I'm not even sure why I'm posting this. Maybe I really do want someone to talk me out of it. Maybe I really want someone to tell me some magic method I'm not aware of. What I do know is that my life has become patently unliveable.
I'm nearly thirty years old and I have been too mentally ill to work since I was a teenager. I've tried all the proper methods of counselling, therapy, medication, etcetera, and none of it has worked for me. If I'm lucky I get to see a psychiachrist once every three or four months, which is useless - I can't afford to pay for private healthcare. I don't know whether I'm better off than someone in the States, who may have to pay to see a psychiachrist at all, and I don't want to whinge on too much, but all the professional methods have failed me. I can't talk to my friends about what's going on in my head anymore. Everyone I have been honest with before has ended up becoming overwhelmed and distanced themselves from me. If I tell people how I feel, I end losing those people - friends, girlfriends, and family have all abandoned me, simply for my depression and suicidal thoughts.
I was like this way before I took any drugs. I can't tell my psychiachrists I've taken illegal drugs as they'd immediatley view that as the whole of the problem, which it most definitely isn't. I was losing the plot two years before I even had my first cigarette, my first joint, my first drink. If anything, for a good while, drugs have helped me survive this long.
Weed has always helped me sleep but I can't afford it all the time and it doesn't help with my self confidence one bit. Alcohol has recently become more helpful to me too but again, money is an issue. If I could afford to be drunk & stoned every day I wouldn't have much of a problem - or at least I could hide from the problem successfully.
For the last year I have been taking ketamin on average every other weekend and found it really helped lift my mood. I had one particular experience which I will probably fail to explain in a way that does it justice, but I'll attempt to: I just remember feeling at the peak of the trip that everything was suddenly alright and that a massive weight had been lifted off my shoulders. For days and even weeks afterwards, I thought "it's just a drug, no more real than any number of antidepressants" but my mood stayed good for a long, long time. I read up on some of the supposedly antidepressant effects that K can have and they made a lot of sense. A friend of mine reported a similar experience.
Eventually though I did become depressed again, bit by bit. I wanted to sort my life out, stop sitting in a room every day of my life hunched over a keyboard, avoiding social contact. I hadnt had a girlfriend or any sexual contact for years. I wanted to be normal again and I felt ketamin had helped me out of a bad patch. So I kept going back to it whenever I was down and wanted to remind myself of what it was like to enjoy life. That's when things really fucked up. I had 2 trips that were very out of the ordinary, and the second one has put me off ket for good.
In the first, I kept waking up in different parallel universes that were ever so slightly different from my own. The room and the person I was with would change in subtle ways. It was more like a dream I couldn't wake up from. I was talking to my friend in the trip, and was relieved to find out when I camedown that I hadn't actually been talking in reality.
In the second, the same happened, but I forgot I had taken a drug. Weird thing was, the K was overcooked and burnt looking and didn't seem to be getting any of us that fucked beyond a buzz. It wasn't till the last line that I went back into the dream state from the last trip. This time, I couldnt remember how I got there. I was convinced a week had gone by since my last trip, and that I had finally lost the plot. My brain had redrawn everything in the room itself, and I could see the cracks and the seams, the inconsistencies that proved the world I was in was a fake.
I went through loads of these different "parallel universes" trying to find my way back, not sure what I would come back to. In each one, the two friends I was with became increasingly more twisted looking, like corpses that had been sewn back together, or robots designed to fool me into thinking they were my friends. When I finally came back to reality, I was terrified, not even sure whether this was just going to be another repeat of the same scene over and over - me telling my friends they weren't really real, they looked wrong, trying to escape somehow, waking up again, asking them what had just happened, telling them they weren't real again.... it was a loop that seemed to go round and round for hours. At one point before I came down, I "woke up" in a mental hospital and was told I'd been there for the last twenty years. When I looked in a mirror, I was older, looking nearly fifty, and I believed I was really there. By this point the badly stitched together humans had become things that looked like living severed limbs and heads stuck to random pieces of machinery, prams and other inanimate objects. I really believed I had gone mad for good.
If that wasn't enough to scare me off ever doing hallucinogenics again (which I have always had a good track record with up till now, even during the odd bad acid trip) I was mortified to discover that I had actually been running round my friend's house shouting about how the people I was with weren't real. Over and over and over. I was lucky I hadn't smashed anything up, or run out into the road. I was lucky I was with good friends who did their best to look after me. I was hideously embarassed and more scared than I'd ever been in my life.
I expected to begin feeling better from this soon, but the only time the images don't pop back into my head and start scaring me again is when I'm thinking about the real problems I have now. K was my last crutch and it feels like it's been kicked away from me. I can never risk doing it again - but it was all I had left. Now I feel empty, as bleak as I was happy from the good trip I described earlier. I can't wait months on end for this feeling to disappear. I want to sort my life out but I don't believe everyone can. I don't believe everyone in the world is as equally likely to be successful as others, which is what therapists try and kid you into believing. I believe some people are born messes, and die messes, and I really wish I could convince myself I wasn't one of those.
This post is probably far too long, I really needed to get all this off my chest, and I apologise for ranting so much. I just don't know what to do. I am terrified of losing my friends and I have no family to fall back on. I am terrified of losing the plot again and finding myself homeless or in mental hospital, which has happened to me before. None of my recent achievements seem to mean anything to me, all I can focus on is the bad, and all I can think about is killing myself. I'm not even sure why I thought posting this here would be appropriate or helpful to anyone. I feel a little better for writing it all out, at least.
Thanks for reading this.
