At 27, I’ve settled into a comfortable coexistence with my suicidality. We’ve made peace, or at least a temporary accord negotiated by therapy and medication. It’s still hard sometimes, but not as hard as you might think. What makes it harder is being unable to talk about it freely: the weightiness of the confession, the impossibility of explaining that it both is and isn’t as serious as it sounds. I don’t always want to be alive. Yes, I mean it. No, you shouldn’t be afraid for me. No, I’m not in danger of killing myself right now. Yes, I really mean it.
How do you explain that?
After that, I celebrated each birthday with surprise because each age I hit was one I assumed I wouldn’t reach.
I know exactly this feeling. I often expected the escape from terrible depression would eventually be suicide. I still expect to die by my own hand when my quality of life declines from health problems or old age in the future.
Funny thing is, my father was the same way. He procured for himself whatever drug is administered in right-to-die cases and warned me that he had it a number of years ago. But he never asked for it when he went into hospice due to age-related health issues. He clung to life until it was gone.
I don’t always want to be alive. Yes, I mean it. No, you shouldn’t be afraid for me. No, I’m not in danger of killing myself right now. Yes, I really mean it.
How do you explain that?
Just like that? That’s how I do it at least.
I reassure people that I know I’m lucky to have people that care about me and that I never want to hurt anyone. I should stop saying “don’t worry, I’m stuck here” but that is how I feel. I’m only still here because it’s wrong to hurt other people just because I don’t want to exist.
Honestly, if there wasn’t so much social weight and taboo attached to death I would’ve ended it already. I have no interest in any of the obligations that existence carries. Eating, talking, moving, cleaning, biological impulses, feelings, comfort, pain, all of it. These meat-bags we’re all trapped in are too finicky and needy. I didn’t ask for it and I don’t want it. Existence genuinely disgusts me
I didn’t ask for it and I don’t want it.
Pretty much how I feel too. My dad told me the condom ripped and without hesitation I asked why they didn’t just abort me as I would have very much preferred to not exist especially since my parents split pretty much immediately after I was born.
I honestly think my mom wanted pets and confused children with pets. We’d get the verbal love and pats on the head, but never any effort, never anything that involved her taking action for us. At least now my generation is obsessed with dogs and are (correctly) choosing pets over treating people like pets…
Whatever you might think of John Mayer, I really liked his phrasing of “love is a verb.”
This is me often times it seems. It’s a conflicting state of existence. And my depression seems to keep me stagnant so I can’t escape the idea my life is meaningless.
All life is meaningless, but that’s good. You define your meaning/purpose. It’s whatever you want it to be.
My issue is less with meaning and more with “God i wish I was literally anyone but me, I hate myself with the burning passion of 10000 dying suns.” Lol
Very relatable, as well as that notion of being “stuck here” so to speak. I’m having trouble pushing through and reaching that state of “optimistic nihilism” or whatever you want to call it, but I’m trying. And it’s good to hear from others in a similar boat.
I thought I was alone in this
Same here. Glad to have a word for it now. Hope you’re doing alright
Thanks. You too
A few decades ago when I was a teen I stayed up for New Year. I told my mom that I didn’t think I’d make it through that year and she looked at me like I was crazy.
She didn’t understand, and I have kept that shit to myself ever since because it was embarrassing.
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Wow did this feel like it was written for me. The analogy of treading water, ultimately resigned to the idea that at some point, you’ll succumb, but hoping it isn’t soon.
Recently, I took a trip to Europe. There I was able to experiment with micro-dosing shrooms, and it really helped me find the connection to life and others that I’ve been missing. No, I wasn’t blitzed off 5 grams, wandering around with saucer plate pupils, I was micro-dosing while on an antidepressant which dulls the effect considerably. On one particular occasion, I opened up about some troubles I’ve had to two nice guys that were at the same concert with me. They were incredibly drunk (I’m sober from alcohol 5 years) so I felt safe in confiding stuff to them that I might normally hide. In our conversation, I talked about how these events manifested in suicidal thoughts and a half-hearted attempt, and their reaction? “Us too.”
I then went around for the rest of the night, and whenever I talked to a guy, I’d randomly add “hey, I’m glad you didn’t kill yourself.” and every single man I said that to teared up and thanked me (I said it to one woman and she looked at me like I was crazy, so I stuck with guys after that haha).
Suicide death hasn’t been this high since the great depression, it’s clearly linked to the predominant financial stress we all feel. They refer to them as “deaths of despair.”
I don’t know why I’m writing this but I feel like my comment should have a point so I’ll say this: Voting to advance social welfare saves lives. Literally.
Men generally do not have community spaces or social support networks at this moment in history. It’s something that urgently needs a social movement to address that also doesn’t involve bigotry, flag-waving or outright nazism as an antidote.
I am glad you didn’t kill yourself, too. Stay strong.
I personally think men are more likely to be successful at suicide, because men are conditioned to not mind dying by society so they will enlist in the military. There is a LOT of propaganda teaching young men the best thing they can do is sacrifice themselves.
Women attempt more because their quality of life is worse. They just don’t succeed because they are taught to be nonviolent and that it’s bad for them to die. They also have less access to guns, because again, we have a huge military culture here that pushes gun ownership on men for military enlistment reasons. Imo women attempt more with poisoning because women are often highly distressed about what they eat/thinness (eating disorders genuinely kill people).
I’ve explained it like the episode of Family Guy where they have a reality show made about them and Stewie says “it’s not so much that I want to kill Lois, it’s that I would very much like for Lois not to be alive anymore.” I don’t want to kill myself, I just don’t want to be alive.
Its so pleasant to read an article that talks about this.
I know im not alone in this cause im fairly open about it, but therapy is a trap because i get pigeon holed into that actively suicidal person before even being able to have that conversation.
You could take Marin Preda’s approach: use suicide as a figurative escape hatch that you don’t have to use, but gives you the solace that there is a choice, which helps make other choices in an absurd world, which paradoxically makes it easier to endure through absurd situations.
Oh hey this has been my entire life since I was a kid. I’m 45 now. I still wish I was dead lol.
NB4 get help; I am on like seven medications and have a very good psychotherapist (the kind with a doctorate, not just a certification).
I’ve had this since my teens. Some days, weeks, even months are harder than others, but no matter what I always feel like an attention-seeking fraud for not being “serious” about suicide, like others who actually try it
I cope through humour, mostly. I affectionately refer to the train station near me as my “get out of jail free card”, for when things get too much and I eventually succumb. It’ somehow helps to know I’m kidding, but also not kidding. Though I’ve thought and planned enough to know if I did ever really do it, that’s probably not what I’d do.
But yeah. I find all I can do is take each day as it comes.
Please don’t kill yourself by train, for the sake of the driver, and onlookers. I saw someone behead themselves by train when I was 17 and I’m still mad at them for it. How dare they put that shit on everyone in the area
People choose suicide methods that are consistent with previous life trauma. People who choose to be hit by a train in particular are correlated with physical punishments, either from parents and caregivers, or from others. I read of a case study where a man who was captured in war was tortured by being beaten by a group of soldiers, and he chose to end his life by train. So it’s not always childhood trauma that does it.
It makes sense, because our brains categorize memories by emotion (much like how a library sorts books by author). Being suicidal is a highly distressed state, especially directly beforehand. A lot of times people cannot access happier or more emotionally distant memories when in an emotional state. So if you are extremely distressed, you’ll be remembering your worst moments. When planning your own suicide, you’ll be remembering all the worst moments while trying to plan. Those memories leak into the present and affect present day decisions.
My take, informed from decades of personal experience, is the most effective form of suicide prevention is to create an environment (world), in which one can legitimately and actively, choose to participate in when we’re at our most vulnerable.
For me, my depression and suicidality spawns from my inability and unwillingness to develop my sociopathy to a level required to be mistaken for an acceptable participant in the world today.
Every bit of joy, any kind of motivating happiness, has been stripped from society so it can be used as a carrot to make capital instead.
Community is now paywalled. Even basic things like standing outside - ya know, the natural state for the human animal - paywalled. Living in the woods like an animal- paywalled, maybe illegal. Dying is also paywalled, from both ends - you aren’t allowed to die and must pay for lifesaving interventions and when you do die, you have to pay for burial.
It’s just so bizarre. Fuck money
It is so amazing to read an article I can relate to so well. Because as someone who feels very similarly and constantly about the pointlessness of life but not always an active suicide plan, it also feels lonely. Not lonely as in having no one around me but lonely as in that there’s no one else who truly understands how I feel about life. Because when I mention it, my therapists get worried and want to talk about a safety plan. I’m glad I have a safety plan but that’s not what I’m going through. I just don’t know what’s the purpose of my life in this world sliding toward doom and so i keep getting automatic thoughts that I’d be better off dead. Which is different than I want to kill myself. And so I don’t talk about it most of the time.
I’m grateful for the bravery of the author to write about this feeling so well and put this article out into the world. It made me feel a little less alone.
Nihilism is a bitch.
Nihilism can be incredibly liberating—IF one is willing to put in the hard work of self-actualization. Finding meaning in an apathetic universe is inherently difficult. Way easier, but less fulfilling, to just float on wherever.
Recognizing life’s inherent meaninglessness not as a source of despair but as an opportunity to live more fully and freely allows one to create their own meaning, focus on the present, and find joy in the experiences and relationships that life offers.
I mean, it’s also not permission to be a completely selfish narcissist asshole either—what we do and say does matter to others; but the universe is billions of years old and will continue to exist for gazillions more. Might as well make the best of it while you can.
Ah, good ol’ optimistic nihilism. Other animals don’t give a shit about whether or not there’s a meaning to life - they just do it. We humans have the power to create meaning, enough that our emotions can be affected by mere sounds, words, or the presence of others. Make life mean what you want it to and don’t worry about intrinsic meaning - it doesn’t matter. What matters is what we believe matters.
Funnily enough South Park really drilled this in to me with their imagination land series lol
I never considered Imagination Land to be optimistic nihilism, but I can see it!
I’ve never pondered or looked into optimistic nihilism. but your description hit me right in the face with it 😆
One of my favorite quotes is Nihilists with a good imagination so maybe that’s what tied it all together for me
Thank you so much for sharing this. As somebody with a similar mindset it’s been very difficult to explain this to people, even my therapist. I’m going to send this around to my loved ones and hopefully open up a conversation.
I mean your therapist should absolutely know what passive suicidal ideation is
“We really don’t know [the impact of] having more casual conversation about suicide,” April Foreman, licensed psychologist and executive board member at the American Association of Suicidology, told me. “Stigma is lower than it’s ever been and suicide rates are as high as they were during the Great Depression. If reducing stigma alone saves lives, the suicide rates should be going down.”
This part stood out to me, because I’ve wondered for a while now if Internet culture and/or mental health destigmatation has increased the number of people talking about suicidal ideation, or if suicidal ideation in the general population has increased to the point that it inevitably leaks out, that we can’t help but talk about it more because it’s so pervasive.
On the one hand, things seem pretty bad right now in a variety of ways, but on the other hand looking at history, “bad times” are quite prevalent and often in ways “worse” than we’re facing now. But there might be something unique about the bad times we’re currently facing: perhaps the things that make them bad seem uniquely catastrophic or uniquely hopeless, perhaps our support systems are uniquely weak, perhaps our day-to-day lives are uniquely unfulfilling or unsuited for our monkey brains, or perhaps we got too accustomed to “uniquely good times” in the latter half of the 20th century and now things feel uniquely bad by comparison.
I don’t know if there’s really a way to tease out cause and effect here, especially when the vast majority of people are not comfortable being 100% honest about their suicidal ideation even in professional settings due to residual stigma and the fear that being too honest could mean trading one’s freedom for grippy socks.
Good article, and relatable. It pops into my head on an almost daily basis, “Ugh, this situation is terrible. At least when I’m dead I won’t have to deal with this anymore. Hmm…no, not yet.”
I felt pretty much the same, for years, right up until the moment I found out (or rather, admitted to myself) that I am trans. I wonder how much more fun my life would have been up to this point, had I known earlier.
