Feeling of Longing

What is suicide to me and why is this something I'm suddenly making visible?

It's to make the fight I face in the dark to the light. To bring the pain forth so it can be felt and dealt with accordingly.

Preface

Let me first preface with this: I have never shared these feelings, thoughts or other very close personal details before in my life. I do not cry "suicide" to get attention. If I wanted that, there are more effective ways to draw attention. If I were to draw attention, it would not be to me, but your own internal stigmas against it. If reading this you immediately had an emotional gut response to "save me", then keep reading. I have more juicy insights for you. Coming from someone who lingers and lurks at the edge of existence nearly daily, I want to share some insights from my perspective that might help you see and understand better.

I am NOT saying my words are all that matter. I am merely sharing my perspective and my experiences with this feeling I've dealt with all my life and still struggle to overcome to this day. I know I am not alone in this fight. I hope that one day, my words may save another from falling into the pits of despair and peril. You should know existential dread is real; reflecting on humans and the lives we live -- yeah, it's really fucking shitty. However, there's also beautiful parts to it as well. Everything is so complex, I don't think we can summarize "everything" in a single sentence, but I'm getting ahead of myself. What I hope to share in the coming passages, I hope will be of help to someone who may not be aware of how to deal with someone on the edge of existentialism.

On the Surface

Any sense of pain causes one to have a reaction. That's a normal response. The pain is information that informs the body and the mind. However, there are times where the pain gets so strong it causes me to refuse my existence here. At a superficial level, you could say I have felt this way (never used it like this in the past), in order to avoid being held to account for something.

It was in those moments I learned the hard lesson of taking responsibility. Taking responsibility means saying "Yes, I fucked up and here's how I am going to fix it." Taking responsibility is doing the things to correct the mistake the best you can.

> There are those that don't know how to recognize someone when they are taking responsibility. I shit on your face and piss in your corn flakes. You need to learn when someone realizes themselves. It is not your duty to place them in an eternal purgatory where they pay an infinite tax of your judgement for their single mishap.

You Only Get One Shot

At age 19, I dealt with some of the worst dread of my life. I spoke to the Angel of Death daily asking for it to take me. Every day, dealing with a dread so strong that I wanted to erase my existence because it was very clear I was not going to be accepted. I had gone from a fairly open environment in Colorado (which, to me, still felt pretty oppressed) to Texas, where their country accents gnarled at my ears and their silly southern judgement made me feel like I couldn't even live in my own skin. After that I had moved to Sicily Island, Louisiana -- out in the middle of nowhere and absolutely no chance at a decent education for my final year. I was scheduled to take calculus and ended up with "advanced maths", which was basically algebra all over again. Being one of like 3 of the gays in the nearest 50 miles, and a whitewashed black, an out-of-town'er in a small town, there was no way I was going to fit in with these kids. My graduating class of 18.

At this time in my life, I had no love at home since my parents were divorced and I was left with the parent that didn't want us as kids, but was strategically better at taking care of us. I had no love in my community since I didn't belong to any groups and didn't join any after-school programs, the school was too broke to have any. There was nothing to do. School/work was 2 miles away and dearest father was the only transport.

I had no computer or technology to practice with.

I'm out in the middle of nowhere.

I can't trust anybody for anything because they are just too fucking stupid for me (yes, I was an Elitist like that).

So, I'm basically all alone in a town where I'm hated or not accepted for one reason or another.

The dread lived inside me for a year before I just couldn't take it anymore.

I waited for dad to be done with the restaurant.

I should have waited for him to actually start driving down the street....

We had this agreement, you see -- if we were ready after school by the time he was done with the Skillet Café, he would take us home with him. If not -- we had to walk 2 miles to get home. So I waited for him to start heading home. When I thought he had it all packed up and ready to go, I made my way across the street, key in hand to get in the front door.

I should have ran across the street.

I make it to the threshold of the restaurant. I'm barely 3 steps from the door.

Dad comes around the corner. Shit -- he hasn't actually left yet!

He calls to me.

I don't respond and quicken my pace to the door.

I get my hands around the handle and my key right in front of the keyhole.

He calls my name again with a firmness and tone only a Father can call to his son and it completely

paralyses me...

Apparently, I don't want it that bad...

"What are you doing?" he inquires.

I don't respond. A flustered and frustrated look on my face.

He repeats his question, glaring into my eyes like lasers pinpointed on their target.

I reply:

    I was going to get the pistol from the oven I know you keep in the kitchen.

    I was going to lock the door behind me to stall you and head out to the back where I could just

    end it all and not make a mess in the restaurant and not in the front of the street for all to

    see.

I had full intentions on this at the time. He could see the determination in my eyes.

One Level Deeper

Since then, I had trouble dealing with that level of pain. I wanted to die so badly, I would take a knife that I had and would cut the backs of my arms and behind the sleeves of my forearms. I would wear long sleeves to school after this to avoid being noticed. The cuts were so deep, I still carry the scars on my arms to this day if you know where to look.

To me -- the physical pain was a way of interrupting the emotional pain. Since I couldn't die, then maybe at least I can punish myself for the terrible things I have done and contributed to this wretched system. Perhaps I could cut the need to die away from me. Maybe if I punished myself enough, I might finally be worth enough to put in some work and earn something.

I know -- looking back on this, it all seems so foreign to me now. It all seems very warped and twisted. However, this was also my reality at that time.

I share this with you because I want you to know how deep those cuts are.

I want you to know just how close to the edge I have lived the first 30 years of my life.

I want you to see from where I come to know how I arrived here and why I do some of the things I do.

In a way, I am ready for you to see me now. I have been hiding in the darkness for so long and it's time to step into the light and bring these deamons with me. In this way, we can all fight them together.

I want you to know about my story because I hope it helps you write yours.

On a level deeper than taking responsibility, I often asked "What's my purpose in life?"

If you find yourself asking this question, my answer to it is:

    Your purpose in life is what you define for yourself to be your purpose and what you actually

    go through with doing: Your purpose is the summation of your actions here.

So, if you wonder around wondering what you should be doing -- try different things and find out what suits you best. It's okay if you find yourself liking several things. I'm no shining example of that guy that "picked his one thing".

I'm a summation of a man-lover (and a damn good one), massage therapist, software engineer and architect, systems administrator, director of operations, chief, story writer and I dinker with quantum mechanics and AI at the present.

I am also an example of a Decent Human Being with manners and morals.

I'm courageous in the face of danger and disaster.

I'm a caregiver to those I love dearly.

I'm not just one thing in this world. I am many. and I exist. Just as everything else does.

Two Layers Deep

Since then, my most recent bout with suicide has brought me to an even more profound question:

    What's the point of it all?

If everything that can exist does exist or will exist, then what's the point of it all?

Bullies will still bully. Stupid people will still exist. Wars will still wage on. People will

continue peopling...

What's the point of it all if it still all goes to shit?

People are just horrible and wretched creatures. Why do I want to continue to go on here? What is my incentive if all the news says we are going to die anyways? What's the point if we're all going to die of late stage capitalism by 2030? Shouldn't we just try to live it up as best we can and then just call it quits on our own terms?

My answer to this question has been: What role do you want to play in the world's apocalypse?

Do you want to be the guy that panic-kills himself and succumbs to the fear you just fought so hard

the previous 30 years??

Do you want to be the shining example that people can follow and use in their own journeys to accomplish

the battles of the abyss?

The resounding whisper I got from the Universe was "choose"

For days, that word just whispered in the back of my head...

So, I have made my choice. I will continue forward.

Despite trembling in fear. Despite not being quite yet ready.

I continue on and push forward.

What role do you want to play in someone else's life?