Death On My Mind

Caution! Raw emotions, vulnerability and plain-talking on display.

For many years now, every day starts with me asking myself “Is today the day I’m going to kill myself?” It hasn’t happened yet. So I wonder will there ever be a day when it does happen? And yet, the little voice still asks the daily question.

Where does the voice come from? Damned if I know. I don’t believe I’m suffering from depression. Or bipolar. Although given the state of mental healthcare provision in these parts, I’m unlike to find any help in resolving that question. Even if I felt like following that path.

I’m guessing – in a self-diagnosing kind of way – that my feelings of anxiety, ennui, frustration, envy, idealism, contempt, outrage, exasperation, bewilderment, disbelief, resentment self-pity and despair indicate that some of my needs are not getting met. I’m also guessing that these unmet needs include (in no particular order, as far as I can discern):

• meaningful (human) connections
• opportunities to make a difference – whatever “making a difference” might mean
• some relative financial stability and security i.e. a modest regular income
• self-empathy
• empathy from others
• opportunities to help people (although, maybe this is a strategy for getting the above needs met)

I can’t for the life of me (sic) understand why the unmet-ness of these needs makes me wonder about something as final as suicide. In the cold light of day, they hardly seem to possess the giant import my subconscious confers on them.

But there it is.

Pointless

Most days, life just seems so damn pointless. And little to zero prospect of any future day being any different. It’s that tiny possibly, though, along with the love and concern I have for my family and friends, that keeps me from pulling the metaphorical trigger. I do appreciate those folks who let me know that I’m making some kind of difference in their lives. But it does little to dispel the feeling of futility.

Why write about this?

I have no clear aim in mind. But maybe there are some other folks out there with similar thoughts and feelings. Perhaps it’s an attempt to empathise. A different path to meaningful (human) connection? Or maybe just putting these words down can shine a light on the matter, for my own reflection.

Will I publish this? I generally publish most of my ramblings. So I guess this one will get published too. Thoughts of consequences swim in and out of consideration. But who can tell where disclosure will lead? Or non-disclosure? Surely any shift has to be for the better?

Request

I’m thinking there’s likely no simple solution, no one thing that will get my needs met. No one thing to quieten that insistent little voice. But just presently, I’m guessing that some gainful employment might help. Some role that involves working and making meaningful connections with folks that are looking to make a difference too. Would you be willing to consider if you might know of, and be able to put me in touch with, someone like that?

Response

You may be inclined to respond. That would be fine. Although I’m not looking for sympathy. Or advice. In any case, thank you for reading this far. I anticipate some judgmentalism, too. We’re only human, after all.

– Bob