Suicide does not scare me.
I am not religious. I dont give a damn about an after life or some mystic being’s supposeded judgment. There is no hellfire. No repercussions to my life ending, except the pain it will bring to my loved ones. And that’s literally the only thing that has kept me going for 26 years.
I have fantasized about death and how to kill myself since I was a child. Probably some trauma there somewhere. And I honestly think I will kill myself before old age takes my independence. I think about it at least once a week. If not most days.
Worst part, I’m quite fortunate. I have a roof over my head. Food in my belly and meals to come. A loving girlfriend. I landed a slightly better paying job during the pandemic. Have a dog and a cat. And a reliable car. Friends who day I inspire them. Family who is proud of me. But a lot of debt.
And I used to have it worse. I worked my ass off to get to this average life compared to a life of on-off-homelessness and food insecurity. I am happy and laughing about 60% of the time.
But even on my good days and especially on my bad days. I’m so tempted to end my life because it would be such a relief from the neverending dance with anxiety and anger.
I fucking hate this darkness. Guilt is the only this that keep a gun out of my mouth. Guilt of breaking my families hearts.
I hope I I’ll go out in some tragic accident or disaster so it’s out of my hands and I can finally just… stop.