A set of atoms come together and, by some unexplained miracle, gain consciousness to become an atomic parking place for a few decades, if everything goes just right. They seek to live and make things align for themselves hoping for the best. If not, these randomly aggregated clumps of protein that sheath the soul become burdened by existence only to decide one day that through the unexplained misfortune of pain they shall suffer no more. And then you kill yourself.
A lot of them don’t agree with your decision but maybe that’s just a gesture of seeming ethical. I am not generalizing, some of them obviously did care but you might think that if you interrogated them enough with your pain they would come to agree with you in their own minds. They won’t say it of course because no one wants a guilty conscience of enabling a suicide. Look out for when they weep though. Well you can’t but I can. I can never quite figure out the people who weep for the likes of you. I don’t mean that as an insult, you know. Anyway just look, are there tears because they lost you? Are they because they couldn’t be of help? Or are they crying because they secretly agree with your decision and know there was no way out for you and it scares them of the fact that it is likely that they very well might end up where you did if there was to be a pain like yours? Come on, don’t rule that one out. You should listen to some of these mourners. They have sympathy for you from a point of understanding and not from a point of true sorrow for being unhelpful. They know suicide can be rationalized when cornered enough.
Death is enticing when living is insufferable. The age old reflex of thinking, at least once in one’s lifetime, about getting rid of oneself is probably the only thought that would get a unanimous agreement across all socio-economic classes, sects or any other categories that would suffice as a description of ones being in the world. It is easy to be enamored by any way out when a deadening grayness sets in and the world does not seem to have a place for you. It’s almost as if the winds of judgement and discomfort gush around you while whispering, “You aren’t needed anymore and not only will the world do just fine without you but flourish when the people you hold onto will be unchained and carry on with mild bouts of sorrow”. It seems as if the world is willing to reject you and awaits excitedly to watch you lose your breath.
The meaning of your life then is not to go on living but to sleep and never wake up. Sleep because, why tolerate more pain on your way out? Why take the effort to overdose on a substance? Why hang yourself to asphyxiate and scream inaudibly for help? It’s as if mother nature finds it difficult to let go of you, wherein her grasps on to your soul causes more pain. Or maybe it’s the final joke upon the rejects of the underclass, “You want to get away from pain? Here, feel some more on your way out - a pain like you have never felt before. And take the bonus of regret and doubt while you are at it. The doubt of whether the decision to kill yourself was right or not and the regret of realizing that it probably wasn’t” Of course then, you would prefer a death that rewards you with an absolution from pain. Not to wake up seems comforting.
The sweet nectar of a pain-free existence, paradoxically attained when one ceases to exist, just like before you were born that’s what you seek. No matter what happens you won’t be back. The regrets will be gone, failures will be erased and the anxieties resolved. You won’t miss anyone and they won’t miss you. You won’t because you are dead and you don’t want them to either because that fucks with your idea of total absolution. After all, if the absolution isn’t total, that just makes you a failure when you are dead, too. Only thing that comes to your mind is to apologize as much as you can and as sincerely as you can hoping that would absolve you of your final decision. There’s a hurry in your apology too because you don’t want to second think your decision out of guilt. The apologies make it strange. Why do you care who you hurt when you kill yourself? Still worried about how your actions are perceived when you are dead? Or maybe because no one should feel responsible for not being helpful when you were alive. Wait, but they weren’t helpful, were they? I mean, why would you kill yourself if they were helpful. OK, perhaps it wasn’t their fault they weren’t helpful. Maybe it was your fault you weren’t within the bounds of being helped. They tried to but they sadly couldn’t.
I know I am drifting but bare with me, I am trying to make a case for your suicide. Is that why you hated responsibilities in your last moments? Because they didn’t feel like responsibilities but tyranny and, ipso facto, more pain? It is likely the responsibilities were tyrannical because you didn’t want them anymore but you had to follow through. I mean who wants to hurt their loved ones by gifting them non-existence of their beloved. You feel responsible don’t you? If only they didn’t care for you, you wouldn’t have to make them go through an unimaginable amount of pain. Oh, there’s that cunt again - pain. You sure hope you had an exclusive right on pain. Maybe that’s why you were so apologetic, you knew all too well that you would be leaving them with an hurt insurmountable. You wanted to contain the damage of your suicide. It had to be contained because it’s your pain and not someone else’s to feel. Perhaps you didn’t want to denigrate into becoming a pile of pity inducing unfathomable waste of resource that causes hurt and pain even through the choices that are good for you. You wanted to, quite ironically, be self-preserving through self-erasure.
Am I getting it right? Is that a fair characterization of how you felt? My apologies if I sounded too blunt. I hope you understand my agitation. I wish you could talk but I understand it is unfair of me to expect that from you when you couldn’t even do it when alive. You guys seldom talk or when you do anyone seldom listens. Well what do I know? Maybe they did listen but it was too late and it turned out that you talking was just a memoir of sad tales before bidding a final adieu. I am open to listening, I would like to know what caused the pain but obviously that would be too late for anyone.
It’s disheartening that you left with an answer to pain but came here with none to life. Sleep well, my dear. No-one’s going to hurt you now. No-one’s going to wake you up.