Reliving: 17/07/97

I feel incredibly selfish when I entertain thoughts of suicide, yet I still manage to do just that most of every day, and feeling like a selfish person is growing old. I'm growing old. While I'm 16! I could count all the things that would make my life ten times worse, I could think of all the so many people who do have it ten times worse than I yet who still persevere, yet that serves no purpose but to make me feel awful for feeling how I do. I know it's wrong. Whoever said to tell yourself what you're thinking is wrong, which is what you're doing by comforting yourself with those who suffer pain more intense than yours, was an absolute chook. A bug-like chook.

Besides, it isn't that I feel pain. I most certainly do not. I have nothing to be sad for, I feel loved and cared for, there are people who look after me because I'm too afraid and careless to look after myself, there are people I care about. I still don't think that this could be love though, wouldn't love hold me here? Despite having read so much about it, heard so much about it, talked so much about it, I don't suppose I believe in love at all. Not for me. Whatever magickal, fairy-dust spell that is, it doesn't work on me. I could quite easily cripple those who I'm expected to love. I have asked myself why I should feel this way if I haven't considered doing it, which I have but not seriously enough to be worrisome. People tell me that the fact that I do not want to kill people must mean that I love them, but I don't feel that is why I wouldn't kill someone. I may not care for people, but I don't want to cause people unnecessary agony from which would be impossible to escape. I don't mean for the person I would kill, I mean for the people who love that person. Death only hurts those who it hasn't captured yet.

Which is why I promised myself I would never take my life as long as there were people who cared about me. Which, as I see it now, means I shall never be allowed to die at all. My family is too extensive, too involved, my death would effect far too many people, and I am certain my mother would never recover.

I am certain she never will. And the thought does upset me, because she is a person who has suffered as anyone else has, and I know of the problems she has had and the problems she does have. (An awful thought, but my death would make these problems so insignificant that she wouldn't even think to worry of them anymore!) I'm uncertain as to whether or not I love my mother, as I don't know that I love anyone, but I do know I like her a lot and care about her and what happens.

My life, death, would be so much easier if no one cared for me. That's all I wish, to have no one care for me at all. I'd give anything to swap places with someone who is miserable as a result of not being cared for. I've seen enough weird foreign movies to know these sorts of people are everywhere.

Wanting to be understood is miles and miles below wanting to be forgotten.

I have been feeling unbearable selfish every second of every day for the past few weeks. It has damaged my mind, I can't sleep, can't eat, can't think. I've always thought of death at least once a day, for as long as I can remember, which isn't saying much anyway. Thoughts of my own death though, my own premature death, are far more disturbing. Up until last month I only had those thoughts about once a week. My mind is now constantly full of them, and has been for a while.

Not because I am unhappy, taking one's own life for no reason other than unhappiness is ludicrous and unforgivable. Misery passes. Joy is always possible, and always predictable in anyone's future. No matter what makes your life miserable now, (excluding terminal illnesses.. sigh) it will pass. I know I don't see happiness in my own future at all, but I don't expect any truly sad person does. That doesn't mean it won't happen.

Sadness is not an acceptable reason to commit suicide.

Why would I choose to then? I'm positive sadness is contributing much to the thought, but that isn't the only reason. Fear, helplessness, hopelessness, disbelief, hatred, and emptiness.

Fear, of the world and of it's people. There are many simple things I am scared of, telephone usage a minor one. People in general scare me, conversations are impossible.

Helplessness, I can't help myself and no one else could help me. Because I don't want to be helped, and I'm too lazy to try. I'm too lazy to bother trying to live.

Hopelessness, I hope for nothing, because I don't see my own future. I know it isn't there. I could never exist as other do, despite that I have until now. I have until now because of other people, and now I've become selfish.

Disbelief, in everything. I don't believe in God. I don't believe in the soul. I don't believe in life after death or reincarnation. I don't believe in time. I don't believe in the future or the past. I don't believe in reality. I don't believe in people. I don't believe in myself.

Hatred, of nothing but myself. My insecurities and ugliness, my selfishness, my laziness, my dishonesty, my fears, my thoughts, my dreams, my person. My mind is black.

Emptiness. Nothing could flare in my mind that hasn't brightened it before. My mind is not only black, but is a broken record. It is vacant of all but the most superficial of thoughts, anything else previously sucked dry and filed away in my folder of things in which to disbelieve. I've no wish anymore to be creative or original. I am no longer interested in anything, I no longer like anything, I don't think I am human. What makes something human? Feeling, I think. And I've none.

I'm beginning to think I'm beyond letting a fear of being a cause of pain for others stop me. Or even my own physical pain before death actually snuffed it out, that has been another concern great enough to prevent me
doing this before.

I still worry for those whom this will upset.
But I desire nothing, and nothing only. And I hate this world.
And what's worse, I've nothing beautiful or profound to say.