The little determination to continue living, albeit not actively experienced as determination but rather an absence of the will to kill myself, is slowly slipping away.
I lack the genuine desire to make things better and try my best. I'd rather just die. It all means very little to me.
I don't want to participate in existence. It has no appeal to me, no value. I do not want it.
I am sick of it. I am disgusted by my own being and the things I feel.
I don't want to endure this. I don't want anything in my future. I don't want the present, I don't want to be.
I am wasting away in stagnation, when I should be annihilated in action.
I've become an indolent piece of shit and any route of action I take is senseless.
Everything that I am..
So much of the time I just feel the amalgamation of all of these things, everything I cannot comprehend.
Things that cannot be understood with language.
And sometimes, just sometimes, I will actively and genuinely feel a smaller clusterfuck of emotions, with just enough clarity to grasp some sort of notion, but it always slips away before it is completed.
Forever flawed, inadequate.
I always end up caring too little to do anything other than waste away in this absurd limbo.
Abject I'm sorry you feel this way.. You put into words everything going my head and so many others so eloquently. You have to keep on fighting man, don't let the depression win.
What happened man? If you want to PM me instead of posting it here I understand. And if you don't want to talk about it too that's ok, but I am really concerned. I'm really sorry to hear you are suffering right now.. just know you are a strong person and you can get through this.
I tried to kill myself by stabbing myself in the jugular the day before Christmas at my girlfriend's house after a childhood trauma resurfaced. This happened directly after I met her extended family. Just after turkey and ham and beer. I felt it coming so I took some xanax. But that didn't stop it. I went crazy. Tried to strangle myself with a handbag. Started screaming, "The world is coming to an end!" They (my girlfriend and her dad) held me down and called the cops. After the cops arrived, I went out for a cigarette and tried to do a runner. One of the pigs (the skinny one) hit me in the shoulder blade with his baton. Handcuffed me so tight that my hand started turning red. Lost circulation. They refused to loosen them for twenty minutes. Eventually they loosened them. Took me to the emergency room at Box Hill. Was standing beside the cop car waiting to get a private room because they didn't want to put me with the other patients. The other pig (the fat one) started kicking the tire of the oink mobile. I asked him if I could kick the car. He said, "Yeah, you can kick the tyre. Not the panels." So I started kicking the shit out of the tyre. As hard as I could. Hundreds of times. "My foot hurt," I said. He laughed. The skinny pig looked at me like I was a near dead bubonic rat. Finally they took me inside. I said I needed to use the toilet, so they took off the handcuffs. Made me promise to be good. The heroin withdrawals were too much. I was clawing the walls, flipping around on my bed. Fell to the floor and started smashing my head into the wall. Made a dent in the plaster with my scull. They said, the pigs, that I was disturbing the other patients. I said, yelled really, "I DON'T GIVE A FUCK!" so they handcuffed me again. So tight that they cut off circulation to both my hands. I told them it was too tight. They said they didn't care. They said, "It's too late." Picked me up by the handcuffs and threw me on the bed. Took five people to restrain me. I started thrashing around. Tried to eat my way through the restraints. I started singing “Danny Boy” in an Irish accent, followed by “Dream a Little Dream of Me.” They told me to shut up. I told them to go fuck themselves. Eventually they injected me with Seroquel. Put me to sleep. Transferred me to a psych ward on Christmas Day. Put me on methadone. Chain smoked cigarettes. Vomited repeatedly. I was released this afternoon. Feeling better now. Still on methadone, though. Need to kick it. It’s New Year’s Eve and I’m falling asleep at quarter past 9. So fucking groggy. Keep getting the hiccups. Keep throwing up. But I don’t want to die anymore.
I will, I can, I must, survive: for me, for her, for my friends and for my family.
I tried to kill myself by stabbing myself in the jugular the day before Christmas at my girlfriend's house after a childhood trauma resurfaced. This happened directly after I met her extended family. Just after turkey and ham and beer. I felt it coming so I took some xanax. But that didn't stop it. I went crazy. Tried to strangle myself with a handbag. Started screaming, "The world is coming to an end!" They (my girlfriend and her dad) held me down and called the cops. After the cops arrived, I went out for a cigarette and tried to do a runner. One of the pigs (the skinny one) hit me in the shoulder blade with his baton. Handcuffed me so tight that my hand started turning red. Lost circulation. They refused to loosen them for twenty minutes. Eventually they loosened them. Took me to the emergency room at Box Hill. Was standing beside the cop car waiting to get a private room because they didn't want to put me with the other patients. The other pig (the fat one) started kicking the tire of the oink mobile. I asked him if I could kick the car. He said, "Yeah, you can kick the tyre. Not the panels." So I started kicking the shit out of the tyre. As hard as I could. Hundreds of times. "My foot hurt," I said. He laughed. The skinny pig looked at me like I was a near dead bubonic rat. Finally they took me inside. I said I needed to use the toilet, so they took off the handcuffs. Made me promise to be good. The heroin withdrawals were too much. I was clawing the walls, flipping around on my bed. Fell to the floor and started smashing my head into the wall. Made a dent in the plaster with my scull. They said, the pigs, that I was disturbing the other patients. I said, yelled really, "I DON'T GIVE A FUCK!" so they handcuffed me again. So tight that they cut off circulation to both my hands. I told them it was too tight. They said they didn't care. They said, "It's too late." Picked me up by the handcuffs and threw me on the bed. Took five people to restrain me. I started thrashing around. Tried to eat my way through the restraints. I started singing “Danny Boy” in an Irish accent, followed by “Dream a Little Dream of Me.” They told me to shut up. I told them to go fuck themselves. Eventually they injected me with Seroquel. Put me to sleep. Transferred me to a psych ward on Christmas Day. Put me on methadone. Chain smoked cigarettes. Vomited repeatedly. I was released this afternoon. Feeling better now. Still on methadone, though. Need to kick it. It’s New Year’s Eve and I’m falling asleep at quarter past 9. So fucking groggy. Keep getting the hiccups. Keep throwing up. But I don’t want to die anymore.
I will, I can, I must, survive: for me, for her, for my friends and for my family.
I didn't know you were using heroin man, I remember your last posts about a different drug but nonetheless, I hope you are going to get on a taper plan so you can get back to normal as soon as possible.
Did you do all of that because of how the withdrawals were making you feel? Did you consider just going to the ER instead?
So, I haven't posted here in a bit , but really thought I needed to today. As many of you regulars know, I've been going through a rough time for quite a while, it hasn't gotten any better. I can't shake the misery that I'm constantly swimming in. I've joined a gym, w/ the hopes that would ease things. It hasn't. I talk to counselors, doctors, and nothing is getting any better. My home life is ok w/ the exception of absolutely zero tolerance for compromise( or so it seems in my twisted mind).I have no one in my life who I can trust enough to totally rely on. Hell maybe that's not possible, and I'm living in a fantasy world. I really don't know..it's hard to explain I guess, but to make a long,boring story short. I feel like I'm fighting a loosing battle..
I traded one problem for another and their is no mental peace for me.. Fml.
So, I haven't posted here in a bit , but really thought I needed to today. As many of you regulars know, I've been going through a rough time for quite a while, it hasn't gotten any better. I can't shake the misery that I'm constantly swimming in. I've joined a gym, w/ the hopes that would ease things. It hasn't. I talk to counselors, doctors, and nothing is getting any better. My home life is ok w/ the exception of absolutely zero tolerance for compromise( or so it seems in my twisted mind).I have no one in my life who I can trust enough to totally rely on. Hell maybe that's not possible, and I'm living in a fantasy world. I really don't know..it's hard to explain I guess, but to make a long,boring story short. I feel like I'm fighting a loosing battle..
I traded one problem for another and their is no mental peace for me.. Fml.
He is probably just expressing his disappointment that you are afflicted with addictions man. This is normal for family members. The best you can do is to take care of yourself and try to get clean when you are ready to and want to.
And just because a family member can be disappointed in us isn't important compared to the fact that they still love you.
It's nice that we care. So you care about what we care about. Doesn't that imply that you give a shit about us? If so, why?
What separates you from the rest of us? (Surely if you care about humanity, generally, you must care about yourself - at least a little bit - since you're presumably human.)
i live in a very dark world with a very dark past that i can't/wont get into and just because i care about other people doesn't mean i car about myself
i live in a very dark world with a very dark past that i can't/wont get into and just because i care about other people doesn't mean i car about myself
This really resonated with me because I've always had an easy time caring and loving other people (to the best of my ability at that particular moment in time), but EVERY thought I had about myself -- and being self-centered by nature I thought about myself a lot -- I thought I was the most loathsome, abhorrent person on the planet. Sometimes a genuine compliment or show of concern would briefly inspire a fleeting sense of hope, but in seconds I was back to my habitual self-deprecation.
So you have a dark past? Seems like suffering is inevitable in our human existence, but yeah, I guarantee that there are thousands upon thousands upon thousands of people who will never even come to the darkness you've experienced. It sucks. But there are lots of people who are feeling that degree of despair you're feeling now, and only with the guidance of people who've been in the darkness and found a way ouot I was able to find enough light to find a path for myself. Just by going what you're going through, you have something profoundly valuable that most people can't offer but can impact SO many lives! So you don't care about yourself, and I get that. Self-image is not gonna change overnight. Perceptions are really just mental habits, but unfortunately our brains favor what it knows the best, even if it's destroying you. Re-mapping it is a continual process. But sounds like you care about others, and just think about all those people who are gonna be in this same place you're in and how much you're gonna be able to help cause you've been there.
You know what someone told me once? The common thread among saints, enlightened figures, or whatever term used across all major religions is that they all suffered. I mean really suffered. I'm not saying that to try to impose spirituality on you, cause that's not all my intention even in the slightest, but these are people whose actions are still revered and regarded as transcendent and inspire hope in non-secular and secular people alike. Look at all the biggest pioneers and shifters of our world who engendered the most positive and transformative changes in human history. They all know the taste of suffering.
I'm gonna quote an excerpt from a book called The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran. It may not resonate with you, but I find a lot of solace in this book.
Then a woman said, "Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow."
And he answered:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.
Don't listen to what your mind is saying. It's not a reliable source right now. There are people who still care about you, and I'm glad that you still care enough about them to continue living through in this miserable (but temporary!!!) place. It is a sacrifice. I've made two genuine suicide attempts without directly reaching out, and I'm still here. I've been in spots even recently where I found myself teetering on the edge, and some small part of me that still had the will to live was able to motivate me to make a call and get in contact with someone. Those people saved my life because they merely answered a phone.
And I just want to say to everyone who is reaching out in this thread: what you're doing takes a TREMENDOUS amount of courage. At the risk of sounding cheesy, y'all are inspiring. Whether it's on the net or IRL, hearing and reading stories like these are so inspiring cause what y'all are doing is really brave. I know it cause there have been times when I was too cowardly and selfish to let anyone deter me or open up myself to help and support.
Haven't felt this bad in a few months, got back to the thought of it just by someone saying to sort myself out on Facebook, in my head the easiest and quickest way to do that would just be to off myself now and stop this pathetic life, it's 03.36am where I am now and it's all I can think about, sad I know but this is TDS so maybe some can relate
It's because of my ex gf again, but she wasn't the one who said wats gotten me back to feeling lik a zero, it was someone I'm meant to be mates with too, it doesn't help that I now feel like all that friend circle feel the same, the guy even saved me from going insane at a festival, that's y it's hit me hard, feel like a complete scumbag, I've not done any of the drugs I even enjoy recently, it's been all things that numb the mind, feel like I'm not hated for a while but once it's worn off I'm back in my sad little world, tossing and turning at night, some of those people would maybe get a laugh from reading this and hearing how I am mentally, not many friends know I'm this unhappy as they are pre-occupied with their own problems
Td;lr it's 03:47am now and I can't get suicide off my mind, I'm sober which makes me feel worse about it and it's all over a Christmas Facebook status comment that someone that is meant to be a friend left me, which makes it all seem even more pathetic
Hope the new year brings many bright days and new strength for the dark ones.
