Sunday, 25 March 2012

Writing blocked, Writer's Block

I've said this and been wrong on numerous, numerous occasions, but I don't know if I continue posting in this manner. The feeling of being bitten by snakes in the stomach constantly, injecting their acid venom, has turned my attention span to dust, and now all I can really do is sleep and try to meditate. Meditation does nothing for me by the way, except help me drift off to sleep - I used to get slightly more pleasant states before my anhedonia went nuclear, but now I generally just clear my mind, space out, and fall asleep before I can even realise it.

As to why I don't commit suicide in this situation, it's little more than the harsh nature of reality which causes humans to ban the things that work and are peaceful, and to only allow those methods that don't work as well, or are significantly more painful. Plus there's the parents. But my empathy is slowly being overridden by black, black night. My only real option is to get someone to do this for me - say, take a trip to Dignitas. In decades, when they will actually allow me to go through with things. I don't know where the hell I can find somewhere with a high enough drop to hang myself (asphyxiating means a much better chance of 'rescue' if your neck isn't broken), no way am I doing anything with a low risk of death (and yes, I've heard stories: people have woken up to find their bodies have torn off exit bags while they were sleeping) and jumping from a height is only something like 90% certain, even from large heights. I used to like those odds, but not anymore. But as for any of you who are worried or something, I don't know, by this, then, don't be, it'll happen probably in decades or so, since Dignitas requires a lot of paperwork, and sneaking past tonnes of relatives is a hard thing to accomplish when you're young and in constant contact. Actually, it might not even happen at all if the pills work out - lifelong depression transformed into lasting happiness? I doubt it, but, life might become tolerable. Tolerable enough for me to not hurt my parents.

There's also the fear factor - when I imagine myself in any position of being about to commit suicide, I just blank out. Can't do it. Don't know why I'm afraid of dying - though it's most likely just a case of the ol' genes screwing me over.

So it'll be a long time yet. Hooray.
Sorry everyone, this was all I could manage to salvage from my broken mind to post to you today. In a while, I think, I'll eventually have some new material for you.


  1. This last week or so I've been longing for the old days when barbiturates were easily accessible. I OD'd on phenobarbitals once, but I didn't quite manage to reach the other side. A pity.

  2. I think the problem is wanting to escape this world while not wanting to die, if you follow me. Sadly, there is nowhere else to go. (By the way, Inmendham posted a great vid on the vanity of placing hope on space exploration yesterday, entitled 'Water is thicker than space'. Well worth a watch.)

  3. Replies
    1. I'm 18, been suicidal since 8 or 9. Hope you asking that wasn't in preparation for a "You're too young to die" speech.

    2. I don't know how young is too young. But if you're legally an adult that does give you some greater degree of autonomy.