I'm not sure I feel any specific way about dying anymore. I used to think that I wouldn't love to 16, then 18, then 20. I'm 24 now, the same age my dad

4 years

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I’m not sure I feel any specific way about dying anymore. I used to think that I wouldn’t love to 16, then 18, then 20. I’m 24 now, the same age my dad was when he died, and I can’t help but think about how young he was, or wonder if he was as tired as I am. I need mental health help, but finding the resources just aren’t possible. I hate the career path I’m on but its one of the only viable fields for me to go into that I even somewhat like when factoring in old injuries and physical health issues. The world finds a new reason to burn itself to the ground every day- the doomsday clock is 100 seconds to midnight- and even accepting the fact that life is fleeting and my situation could change for the worse or better on the whims of a tropical storm, a generous old man, or someone else who doesn’t care about who they take with them as they exit this world I can’t help but think that death would just be easier.
I try to find the good in the world, in my little corner of reality, and while I know its there I don’t feel like I’ve earned it. At this point I move wildly between violent self-hatred and hollow apathy to my own existence (health, goals, safety, everything). I wonder if it wouldn’t be easier if it all ended in a car accident, like my dad. If I didn’t take a note from other ancestors and sign my will with black powder and whiskey. But that would be even more selfish than the ways I already harm myself. Isolation and poor care routines and refusing food is better than a funery service and my name added to the statistic of suicide rates. I know people would miss me. That my death would kill a piece of my mother and my blood family and the family I’ve chosen and that they would mourn me as the grass mourns the sun every day at dusk. And yet it grows harder and harder every day to lie to myself an say that “staying alive for others is a good reason to stay” when my two options are to Hurt or Feel Nothing.
I want it to be dramatic. I want it to be tempestuous. I want to shout as Hamlet against the woes of living and the sorrow of life but the drama isn’t there. The logic is barely cold anymore, just hollow. Death to me isn’t a sorrow, or a fear, or an inevitability I must face to love life more. It is simply a question, and the only thing I fear now is that my answer draws closer and closer to “Yes.”

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I’ve got a date with mary jane.

Carspotter416

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