Why I Shouldn’t Talk About Suicide

A lot of times when someone commits suicide, people wonder what was going through their head, why they did it, and how come they didn’t tell people about their pains and sorrow. A lot of times, the people who talk a lot about suicide only talk about it for the attention. I talk about suicidal thoughts pretty openly; I haven’t done it yet; I’d hate to think I’m in that obnoxious latter group.

Talking about suicide is pretty pointless. I have plenty of friends and family who genuinely don’t want me to die, but they don’t really care about me. For one reason or another, I simply don’t have anyone who really cares about me. I have several great friends who I get along really well with, but it’s not their obligation to feed me and keep me alive. Talking about suicide with them just becomes a bummer because there isn’t much they can say or do. They voice their opinion about not wanting me to die, but there isn’t much else they can do. From the way I talk about suicide fairly lightly, it would be an overreaction for them to do anything more.

When I’m in this suicidal state, it actually feels bad for me to help others. The nicer I am to others, the more pain I’ll be creating when I die inexplicably. On the surface, I don’t appear to be hopeless. I can muster a lot of energy to perform well in tasks but there’s just no motivation for me to do it on my own, for myself. This past month, I helped 4 different people move; I helped my friend’s mom with a spreadsheet last night and went to the gym and got in a good workout with my friend; I’ve also been biking, running, and playing basketball with some other friends too. Today, I was playing an online game and my new online friend randomly asked if I knew how to program and I spent the next few hours helping him with his school project. It’s not like I’m slob who can’t muster the energy to do anything and it’s not like I’m hopelessly stupid, but I simply don’t have the motivation to do it for my own personal survival.

Even this blog entry feels pointless. I’m either going to get people telling me not to commit suicide which is nice and all but it doesn’t really change anything. Or worse yet, I might get no responses and I’ll feel even more like no one cares. But I haven’t written anything in a while so I guess this is something… I don’t know…

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Taking Anti-Depressants Now…

I just went to the doctor and now I’m taking anti-depressants and sleeping pills. They say anti-depressants often give people suicidal thoughts. I’ve heard it explained that depressed people are too unmotivated to even kill themselves but once they get a little motivation back, they become motivated enough to commit suicide. I kinda hope that happens to me. I’m supposed to go see doctor or emergency room immediately if I get suicidal thoughts but emergency room sounds pretty horrible. I’ve been there enough times with my uncle who died from cancer to know that they’re too busy to give a shit about me and they’ll probably just strap me onto a bed so I can’t kill myself. Sounds torturous.

 

I went to a walk in clinic and it took them a long time to see me. It’s right next to the pharmacy so I spoke with the pharmacist a couple times while I was waiting. I asked how long it takes for anti-depressants to take effect and he told me 6 weeks. The doctor later confirmed that. That blew my mind. I need something to help me immediately. I don’t know if I can stand feeling this shitty for 6 weeks…

I’m Done With Life

This is pretty pointless because I can’t be bothered to write anything interesting when I’m feeling like total shit but I’m writing anyway because I don’t know what else to do. Nobody else gives a shit. If you’re reading this and you care but not that much because I’m just a random dude on the internet, just know that that’s more care than anyone else is giving me.

 

I just got home after three nights at my girlfriend’s university resident and I’m feeling shittier than ever. I’ve been feel shitty lately but I didn’t blog about it. Shit happened and I may write about it but it seems more effort than it’s worth and it wouldn’t matter anyway once I’m gone. For a long time, I’m just passively suicidal but I don’t know how passive it’s staying. I don’t have any plans to do anything yet but it definitely feels horrible enough that I just want it to end. I don’t know why I give a shit about what people would think of me if I killed myself. I shouldn’t care because it won’t affect me at all once I’m gone.

 

I haven’t blogged about having a girlfriend yet and I have my reasons for that. There were no fights or anything during this weekend, but that’s only because I’m amazing at avoiding conflict and I’m also such a good person in all situations but it’s a very tiring job and apparently so unrewarding that it makes me want to die. During my previous depressed years, I always thought that having a girlfriend is the last thing I want to try before deciding life isn’t worth living. Maybe it’s my bad luck that my first and only girlfriend is not a good one.

 

She’s pretty oblivious to all this shit but I think I might send her a link to this blog entry. I’ve been completely uncheap with her and have been making her feel great in all ways while I’m with her so of course there’s a part of me she really likes. But she doesn’t really care about me at all and I don’t know if I can cope with it anymore. We have practically no common interests. It’s almost amazing how little we have in common. She doesn’t enjoy the shit I have to say and doesn’t enjoy my sense of humor. She likes games but doesn’t give a shit about my game developing career and doesn’t like any of the games I like. She doesn’t read this blog. There’s simply nothing. I thought at least I might stay for the sex and hope the other things might get better over time. But nope, those aren’t getting better over time and the sex isn’t worth it. I don’t know if it’s my depression or what, but sex is fairly unenjoyable for me. I’m still constantly horny and always ready to do stuff, but it hasn’t been good. Maybe it’s because I’m not good at it yet but without the opportunity to practise, I can’t get better. Condoms also make the whole thing pretty pointless because I don’t feel anything. Over the past 3 nights, we were sexually active and yet I still had to jerk myself off each night. It’s depressing. I offer for her to help me ejaculate each time but she chooses not to and I’m not going to force her. I’m leaving out a lot of details but the stats are true and I feel shitty about it and no one is doing anything about it.

 

Today, the last day i was there, I made it abundantly clear that I was unhappy. She observed that I looked “lifeless” and when asked if I was okay, my answer (yes) was “unconvincing”. I’ve briefed her on my depression but she barely knows anything because we can never carry a long conversation. She tells me to just not think shitty thoughts and to just be happier. She claims it’s possible because she’s done it too. That’s not justified reasoning. I’ve done it too for years and years since I’ve always been depressed and I’m still alive as of this moment. But it gets worse and worse each time and I know depression more than most people, especially her. She tells me to try to make new friends but that’s stupid. My current friends are making me unhappy. If I am to replace them with new and better friends, then I won’t need anything to do with the old batch of which she’s a part of. My visit ended with me saying that I don’t want to go home and her telling me that “there’s nothing for [me] here.” I rebuttled by saying there’s nothing for me anywhere. It’s as if she wasn’t even trying to make me feel better and just wanted to get rid of me.

 

There’s a lot more but I’m not going to write everything because I’m not here to complain about my girlfriend. I’m complaining about all of life. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m unwanted everywhere. If it didn’t hurt so bad, I would just keep on wasting time and living without doing anything. But it’s hurting so much now. My hurt feelings are manifesting as physical pain. It’s happened before but those were only for a night or two. This one isn’t going away and it has no reason to go away. It’s absolutely not due to a lack of trying on my part. I know what can make me feel better. I just want people to care and appreciate me. When I’m a guest, I cook, I clean, I wash dishes, and I offer to help out in all other possible ways but my help isn’t wanted. I don’t know if they’re just hesitant to receive help from someone they barely know or if the help is really unwanted. Either way, I’m left feeling like shit. There are 3 households that I’ve been a guest of so I’ve definitely gave it a shot. Maybe life just isn’t for me. Maybe I’m not as awesome and helpful as a guest as I thought I was being. Maybe I’m just a shitty person to be around. It might be my fault that my life is so crappy or everyone else’s fault. But it doesn’t really matter because no matter what, my life is still crappy and nobody wants me around, especially me.

Heat Intolerance, Life Intolerance

I’ve been pretty extreme lately with my weight loss. I don’t really need to lose a bunch of weight really fast, but I just felt like doing it for “fun”. I’ve been doing everything extreme. I’ve been eating very little, doing up to 10 hours of sweaty exercise a day, and taking super cold and super hot baths.

I won’t list the exact things I did, but the last couple days were extra hardcore. The main reason it wasn’t as hardcore in the first few days is because I hardly did any exercises in recent years and my muscles were getting shitty. After pushing through the first days, my body is now capable of doing even more exercises, so I proceeded to do more. The last few days were extra bad because I had difficulty sleeping. All the conditions aligned for something almost bad to happen today.

Given the title, it’s shouldn’t be a surprise that one of my extremely hot baths almost went awry. What I do is boil several pots of water and mix it in the tub with the hottest tap water to get water that’s really hot. I’ve done this at least 3 other times before and things went pretty normal for all those times. After all those times, I’ve learned how to get into even hotter water. Last time I did a hot bath a couple days ago, I discovered that even though I dip my foot in and it’s too hot to keep the foot in there, if I sink my entire body in the water, it’s actually more tolerable. I put that to the test today and repeatedly attempt to keep my whole body in the water. I had to get out a few times because it was really too hot, but then I was finally able to stay in there.

I had thought that once I can keep my body in the water, it’s smooth sailing. Turns out, it was too hot for my body and I was suffering from heat intolerance or multiple sclerosis or something. I don’t really know what that is, but that’s what came up when I did a google search on it. My hands and feet started getting numb and at first I thought it was cute. But then it kept getting more numb, along with my chest too. Soon, it felt like my body was vibrating uncontrollably. I’ve never felt this level of numbness before. Because I was fully aware that I was doing something extreme, I was smart enough to push my limits only a little bit at a time. I could’ve kept enduring the numbness, but I figured I’d cool off a bit first and make sure I’m really okay. If I’m fine, then I can push harder next time.

When I got out of the tub to spray myself down with cold water in the shower, I found that I was a bit weak and sleepy. I thought it might be because I over-exercised and didn’t get enough sleep. Turns out those were symptoms of heat intolerance. I don’t know if I would go as far as to say I was losing my consciousness, but it was definitely foggy. But then maybe it was just because of all the steam. I basically just felt sleepy but I tested and made sure that I can use my mind to wake myself up. It sounds weird, but basically, I’m only sleepy if I let my body be sleepy. I can always focus and give myself a burst of wakefulness. I was still able to do that. I guess that means I wasn’t too close to death’s door yet.

After cooling down and getting less numb, I got back in the tub and my body got numb again so I got back into the shower. That repeated four more times until finally, the water cooled down enough that it was no longer giving me extreme numbness. When I googled “hot bath numb” after the bath(s), it turns out that people have died this way. I could have died this way. I wonder if maybe I should’ve. It would’ve been a pretty painless way to go. The actual dying part is painless, but it hurt like hell getting into the hot water.

After I finished the whole bath business, I had dinner with my dad. My mom was still sleeping. She slept through the whole day. She always does that when she’s depressed, which is always. My dad tried to talk to me a bit. For this dialogue, bear in mind that my dad is often times an angry asshole. He lightheartedly and disappointingly questioned why I didn’t go to the doctor with my mom yesterday when she asked. I told him that she never asked. She only asked me to do some other dumb shit for her and I did it for her. Then my dad continued to give a speech about why I should’ve gone to the doctor with my mom if she asked me to. It wasn’t even a speech. It was just repeating misinformation. So I told him again that my mom never asked. Then he called me an angry cunt or some other stupid name for raising my voice. I didn’t raise my voice. After that, he kept making fun of me for being an angry person who will never meet any girls. That’s what he defaults to when he has nothing else to say. He also complained that I never go out and simultaneously disapproved of me biking to places because one time he saw a cyclist scratch a car and the driver came out and threw the bike down the street, bending the tires in the process. The lesson of the story, according to my dad, is that white Canadian people are crazy and will irrationally attack you if you provoke them even a tiny bit.

That’s a typical Saturday for you. It makes me wonder if I would’ve been better off dying in the tub. I know talks of suicide are depressing and I don’t really mean it. I want to want to live. (yes, want to want to) Um… wow, I don’t know how to end this less depressingly. I guess the moral of my story is that you can die in a tub if you’re stupid and try to cook yourself in almost boiling water. I guess I’ll also point out that I’m aware that the title is a little weird. It kind of makes sense, but kind of doesn’t. My titles are often like that. Get used to it.

Read My Blog or Don’t Talk to Me

I don’t expect anyone to have read my entire blog. It’s too much. But if someone can’t even be bothered to check it out, then that person doesn’t really want to talk to me and I wouldn’t want to talk to someone who doesn’t want to talk to me. If someone does want to talk to me, there’s no reason not to read my blog. What is there to be afraid of? It’s too thought out? Would they be more comfortable with dumbed down conversation? This is all just a pointless rant though because it’s a pretty obvious point I’m making. Ironically, reading my blog can replace the need to talk to me because you’ll pretty much already know everything that’s happening with me.

This reminds me of why I began blogging in the first place. I had originally intended it to be autobiographical and document my entire life. By the time I finished writing and reflecting my life, if it doesn’t make me want to live, then I guess I wouldn’t have much reason to live. At that point, it would serve as a suicidal note for people to read if they question my motives. I would expect most people to not bother reading it or not read the whole thing and it would prove that my life isn’t even worth a few hours of their time.

Well that was depressing. I probably shouldn’t even bother posting this but I’m gonna do it anyway. Let me see if I can end it with a joke to lighten the mood a little: Being depressed is rarely a good thing. The only time I find it useful is when I’m around an annoyingly cheerful person and I watch them awkwardly react to my apathetic ways.

Life, Responsibilities, Blah Blah Blah…

I don’t really know what to title this entry. I have an idea of what I want to write about but I don’t know if I’ve thought it out yet. Writing blogs is a way of thinking through things so I’m going to be posting this whether it’s shittily thought out or not.

I felt pretty shitty yesterday. It’s not often that I can identify the cause of my bad days but yesterday’s was obvious. It wasn’t a big deal. I shouldn’t have felt as shitty as I did, but it’s not necessarily an over-reaction. I already constantly have a huge pile of shitty feelings so when someone tosses a new piece of shit on top of that, I’m not feeling shitty because of the tiny new piece, I feel shitty for the sum total huge pile of shit feelings. …I’ll stop using shit as a metaphor for feeling shitty now cause the imagery would only get worse from here.

So I’ve been living at my aunt’s lately and yesterday, my aunt had a talk with me about my living situation. I hate how people are basically incapable to talk about things honestly. I don’t talk much, but when I ask a question, I want an honest answer. If you just keep feeding me with nice sounding sugar coated polite bullshit, there no point for me to talk to you. Right now, I’m living at my aunt’s house under the guise of helping out around the house cause of my cancerous sickly uncle. That’s the excuse that goes to my parents but in actuality, my aunt believes my parents are very toxic to happiness so she’s trying to save me from them. I keep asking if she wants me around to help out with the little things cause I know I’m not helping her THAT much. She keeps saying I should stay but I don’t know if that’s true or if she’s just trying to “save” me. I don’t need “saving” unless it’s a concerted effort where my opinion actually matters.

My aunt tried to talk to me and get me to think about my future, specifically, how I plan to make a living for myself in the future because I haven’t been doing that yet. I tell her the truth without making a big deal out of it and I don’t think she understands how I feel at all. I’m utterly depressed. I’ve been this way for a while and will continue to be this way in the foreseeable future. Just because I talk about depression with a smile on my face and joking around with it instead of sobbing like a little bitch, it doesn’t mean I’m not actually depressed or that I’m using it as an ultimate excuse to not do shit. Do you want to see me cry? I don’t do it cause nobody wants to see a grown man cry. I’m not a cryer but I’m pretty sure I could cry at will if I just stop holding it back for a minute. That’s an award-winning acting ability and I’m definitely no actor.

Although I’m not working very much these days, I could be doing a lot less. In many ways, I’m quite a superb human being. I am by far the smartest, strongest, and healthiest person I know. That’s mostly because I don’t know anyone. Ranking 1 out of 1 isn’t exactly a feat. I’m not trying to brag here because I’m clearly a failure at life at this moment, being as depressed as I am. Also, I wear glasses so my body is clearly flawed. My point is, I know I’m clearly capable of taking care of myself. I don’t do it because I have no reason to. That’s how grim life has gotten for me. I’m only alive right now because I’m being financially supported. I have no emotional attachment to these people who are supporting me. There’s a part of me that’s hopeful and believes there’s a speck of possibility that I might enjoy life someday. So if living requires very little effort, I’ll live on. I’m not suicidal right now but I’m not afraid to die because there’s nothing I’ll miss.

When I told some of that to my aunt, she likened my situation to her husband’s. There are many days where my uncle suffers so much, he’d much rather die to end the suffering. His siblings insists he lives on. Sure, I understand that my uncle must’ve genuinely wanted to die at some point, many times, but I’m not him. Our minds work completely differently. I don’t give a shit about what people think. I don’t care if other people want me to live. If they’re not actively making my life better, then they’re just in my way. If anything, their nagging for me to live would push me towards death. There’s only two reasons that my uncle hasn’t killed himself yet. Either he’s too much of a pussy to do it, or he wants to live. It’s okay to want to live. (Who’d have thought that sentence would ever need to be written, lol.)

I’m not like my uncle. I’ve got a much stronger will. If I really want to do something, I’ll do it. If I really wanted to kill myself, I’ll do it. It won’t be easy, but I can handle the task. Do I need to prove it? I’m not a cutter and I get no enjoyment out of it. I’ve got a healthy fear of not wanting to wound myself. But I give so little shits right now, I can stab myself in the arm as proof that I genuinely don’t care about my life right now. I would definitely hesitate, but I can do it. It’s like sucking a dick. I know I don’t want to do it, but if I had to, I would need a moment to take a breath and mentally prepare myself before I do it. It’s not physically hard to suck dicks, it’s all mental. Don’t worry, I’m not about to retardedly stab myself in the arm or suck dicks because I’m smart enough to know that it doesn’t matter even if I prove my depression to people.

Speaking of sucking dicks, I wanted to use that as an example for something else. One of the things my aunt talked to me about was to eventually get me to pay the internet bill and develop a sense of responsibility in me. I understand the perceived logic behind that, but that won’t work for me at this point. I’ve got enough money saved up along with the batch of money that’s about to come in with Tek Tactical, a game I’ll be releasing today, that I won’t need to work for a while to pay those bills. There still won’t be any urgency for me to work. By the time it does feel urgent, it’ll close off opportunities for me to attempt entrepreneurial projects like making games. So I would wound up stuck with a shitty job or sucking dicks to pay the bills. Would my aunt really want me to suck dicks to pay her $50 a month? No? Oh, so she’ll let a month slide? What about the next month? Does she want me to suck dicks then? If she doesn’t ever want me to have to suck dicks, then the whole responsibility shit doesn’t work. Ideally, she would want me to get a job to pay the bills and then discover that if I HAD to work, I might as well get a better job and then get a good job that way. But that’s not how my brain works at this point in life. I’d rather suck dicks than get stuck in a shitty job and I’d probably rather die than suck dicks.

Okay… let me see if it’s possible to bring this back to a positive note. Let me assure you that I’m probably not in any danger of suicide or sucking dicks anytime soon. Once Tek Tactical is released, my life will change quite drastically. Not necessarily a positive change, but it’ll change. The projected earnings seem pretty good and I’ll be kept busy responding to user comments. I recognize that there’s a very real possibility that it doesn’t turn out so well. It’s definitely possible that I earn far less than I expect and maybe no one will give enough of a shit about the game to comment on it. If that happens, I will need to seriously consider abandoning game making and reapply my programming skills to more serious jobs. Either way, my life’s about to change pretty soon.

Hmm… That wasn’t positive at all, is it? Let me try again… When I told my aunt that paying bills won’t give me urgency because Tek Tactical will probably cover that for a year, she said that she could just increase the bills for me. If that’s the case, I’ve got no reason to continue living with her. It’s not like I enjoy living here. I’m not complaining. It’s just I don’t enjoy anything. She thinks that less yelling in her house compared to my parents’ along with her daughters’ conversations might do me good. I’ve seen enough of it to know that it won’t do me any good. Again, I’m not complaining, but my welfare is definitely not going to go according to her plan. If that’s the case, I might as well go back to my parents’. My aunt and uncle are retired so they’re home all the time. At least at my parents’ house, they go to work so I get the house to myself all day where I can freely record podcasts and masturbate.

Eventually, if I move out on my own, I’ll probably move to another country. Fuck free health care. I never get sick anyway. Okay… I totally suck at ending this positively. Umm… let me just clarify that I’m not just glooming around my aunt’s house and that I’m currently being a very pleasant houseguest. I’m just looking into the future through my dark depressing lens.