Yes Indeedy
Ahhhfff, I love that I spend most of my time at home sleeping. Productivity? What’s that?
We had breakfast for dinner tonight. I like it, no problem, but I don’t like scrambled eggs hwaaarrr.
D: GOD DAMN THAT YOMI, I’m going to have to show up at her place one day and just be like FUCK YOU YOU’RE AWESOME.
Apparently the poor thing’s been consoling a girl she doesn’t even know and trying to convince her not to off herself.
For the past two hours. When she’s not even feeling good herself. That woman’s a humanitarian, she is.
Eh, all this talk about suicide and depression and my own weird emotions has got me thinking about really abstract shit.
When I was around seven or so, I’d feign being suicidal to get out of school. Yes, I was a bitch. And of course, my mom, half-dead and her blood practically replaced by steroids didn’t question it. Not to mention, how do you question actual intent in these cases?
“Are you sure you’re not faking it?”
”What!?”
Doesn’t work too well. But what I’m saying is that I realize it wasn’t real. And at the time, I was too young to understand just how grave a situation people who are honestly considering suicide are in. I don’t really know what it feels like. I’ve known a few people (around five) who tried explaining what was in their heads when they came close to doing so. It sounds horrifying. Like, half of the time they said they realize that it’s not a good idea, but the idea perpetually nags at them until it actually grows into a considerable option. What scares me the most is that you can’t seem to trust your own mind.
As it is, when something weird happens, I already question myself. When my car got broken into, I was like, “Did I… Rip out my stereo? And break the console? I don’t think so, but I better be sure I’m not just forgetting this before I report it.” So to feel like this with suicide? Beyond thought, really.
Of course suicide isn’t a good option. I mean, okay, if you’re in a pit filled with snakes who will slowly eat you alive over time and create a prolonged agony that, should you survive, leave you drained and devoid of a soul AND surviving means going back to an even worse or just as worse situation, I could see some validity in that. And I’m not talking about medical suicide, come on. That’s like, entirely unto itself. But yeah.
Once or twice I’ve been like, “Wonder what’d happen if I killed myself.” Just ‘cause I know I’m a nuisance financially and that I’m not going to really end up being a productive person. But then I think, “eh, then I won’t get to eat delicious food,” or something ridiculously stupid like that. It’s the fact that the pros of living outweigh the cons for me that I keep at least alive. Even though my lifestyle can’t really be called a living. SLEEP EAT SHOWER SCHOOL INNERNETS SLEEP. Healthy.
But what must it be like to actually see it that the cons outweigh the pros? Where they really, logically deduce that it’s just easier to die? I don’t know. There’s not going to be a revolution I can come to on that.
Another thing that kept me from being serious is that
1.) My life is pretty good in general. My parents love me, I’ve got a car, am not utterly unattractive, a roof over my head (which is a stupid phrase— where the fuck else would it be) but this is also a source of constant frustration to me.
2.) Despite not being Catholic (Unitarian— “SOMETHIN’S OUT THERE, BUT I DON’T KNOW WHAT”), I’d be worried for my very soul if I did so. So it’s like, a threat.
…MMKAH TAMA’S CALLIN’ ME AND I CAN’T TYPE AND SPEAK TO HIM COHERENTLY AT THE SAME TIME
Damned purple cat man.
