Journal – November 1-2

Journal - November 1-2

 

Transcription

Life and Death

I dreamt that I tried to commit suicide. It surprised me because I haven’t felt suicidal recently. It’s also the first time I’ve dreamt such a thing and it weirds me out a bit. I’ve been feeling largely positive, even happy, the last few months, even though I never did stop being aware that there are unresolved issues and unfixable things that plague me.

Even in the glow of positivity and happiness, there is a stress that will never go away because life can never be the neat little package you want it to be. I don’t want to kill myself at the moment but I wouldn’t mind ceasing to exist.

In my dream, the attempt failed and I woke up feeling disappointed, both in the dream and in real life. Where do I go from here? I don’t know. Keep trying, die trying, to fix my life as well as I can. Look outside the window and focus on the good things.

Gratitude

I’m grateful for all the people in the world who make the world a better place with kindness, love and compassion.

Lifeguard

I will never stop being amazed at Piers’ superpower. We were at our pond and it’s pretty chaotic. Dragonflies flitting around, dead leaves and weeds and ripples on the surface, uneven muddy ground on the bottom. In the middle of that, he suddenly pointed out a tiny splashing that wouldn’t quit and said a dragonfly was drowning. It was far away in the middle of a really huge pond and I honestly couldn’t tell. But Piers saw it and managed to rescue it with a ridiculously long wooden beam that’s used to sweep pond weeds. Makes me speechless!

 

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I want to kill myself but I’m too lazy (PG)

So, I was lying in bed for three hours, thinking about killing myself.

But it’s so much work and I’m too lazy.

I’m always thinking of effective ways to die. But suicide is either too painful or too troublesome, you know?

Throw myself at a speeding car? Not foolproof and could be bloody.

Lie on the road and wait for a vehicle to run over me? That’s gross. Innards flying all over. Severed limbs.

Jump into an MRT track? SMRT staff will curse me for eternity for giving them yet another mess to clean up.

Jump off a tall building? Too inconsiderate. Think of the people who have to clean up and the witnesses who will be traumatised for life.

Cut myself, stab myself, club myself? Too personal.

Overdose on panadol? Not foolproof and the nausea is worse than dying.

Carbon monoxide poisoning? Not sure how to rig it. Too troublesome.

Gas poisoning? I don’t live alone.

There is no good way at all to kill oneself.

The thought of having to plan a good suicide and actually getting up to do it makes me feel tired already. It’s not fun and I don’t like doing not-fun things.

And then, there are the moral aspects.

I don’t want to hurt the people I love who love me.

But I wonder.

How many people will grieve over my death?

I mean truly grieve. I don’t mean like, “Aw, such a pity she’s dead. How sad, I think I’ll miss her.” That’s bullshit. I mean grieve as in feel the pain of loss, the pain like a hole cut out of your heart that will never heal.

How many people will actually feel pained over the cessation of my existence?

I don’t know. I’m thinking maybe a handful, like family. Even then, I don’t see why they should even feel it. I don’t think I value-add anyone’s life. Not a one. Yes, I know I have family who loves me. But I don’t do shit for them. Nobody depends on me for anything. I can be gone and the value of their lives won’t change.

Well, sure, I know there are people who think I’m beautiful and talented and that my death would be a bloody waste. But I don’t think they will really grieve, you know? Maybe they’ll feel sad about it for a while because that’s human compassion, but I don’t think my death will cripple them or pain them.

Maybe a few people will blog about my death because it’s good blogging fodder, and they will say things like, “Oh, how sad, what a waste, I’ll miss reading her blog,” or “What a stupid bitch, good riddance.” But I don’t think they will really grieve. They will move on and, tomorrow, they will blog about monkeys in the desert.

My existence doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things so it’s not such a bad thing if I killed myself, is it?

Still, I can’t do it on the off-chance that there are actually people who will grieve.

Now, I know because this post talks about death and suicide, some of you will feel compelled to give me your two cents.

“Don’t kill yourself. It’s not worth it.”

“Don’t be a coward.”

“Life is beautiful. Embrace it, don’t lose it.”

“If u kill you’reself your goin strait to hell becuz god sez so its a sin.”

“can i hav all ur stuff????!!!11!!!!one1!!”

Don’t.

Because, firstly, I’m not going to kill myself. Duh.

Secondly, those words are meaningless. They’re obnoxious and insensitive. I don’t think anyone has the right to tell someone not to kill themselves, especially without having lived in that person’s shoes.

Sure, you can tell me not to. But then be prepared to shoulder all my burdens. Solve all my problems. Soothe all my pain. Give me money.

If you’re not prepared to do any of that, what right do you have to tell anyone not to die? Talk is cheap.

The only people who have the right are parents. “I fucking spent hundreds of thousands of dollars and zillions of hours of my life raising you to this point, you little shit. So you’d better not just up and throw it away on a whim, dammit!”

And then, there’s the aftermath to consider. I mean afterlife (or lack thereof).

Lack would be good. Then death would be a clean end to everything.

But life isn’t easy. I have no reason to believe that death would be any easier.

What if I became a restless ghost doomed for eternity to be bound to the very spot where I chose to take my own life?

That’s a really scary thought. I don’t want to hang out at the same bloody spot for eternity and have stupid humans walk through me or sit on me and I can’t scream at them because they can’t hear me or see me.

Even if they could feel my presence, I’m sure haunting people will get old after a while.

What if I got reincarnated as a cockroach as punishment for suicide? Well, cockroaches have really short lifespans so I guess it’s not too big a problem. But what if I keep getting reincarnated as a cockroach for eternity?

What if there’s really a hell?

What if death is worse than life?

Well, there are too many things to consider. Suicide is so troublesome and has so many consequences. I guess I won’t be doing it any time soon. I’m not free today, anyway. I have tons of work to do.

I guess it’ll have to wait.

Work work work work work bleh

It’s been only two days since I started my temp office job, but it feels like I’ve been working for two months already. I feel so exhausted.

I have no stamina for office work. Only two days and I need a holiday already!

Why, why, why, oh why do people have to work for money to survive? Life is so sad.

I’m always wondering about people who hate their jobs but stick to it for years, with no hope of ever having a different future. How do they find the motivation to go on, day after day? Why do they even bother carrying on with life when all they’re doing is dragging their feet through the days and waiting for death?

Oh. I suddenly remember the recent spate of MRT deaths. I suppose that answers my question, somewhat.

I’m not depressed or anything. Not much, anyway, because I’m actually angry.

I’m angry that I can’t get to do what I want to do in life, even after I’ve worked so hard and so long for it. I’ve been working for it and waiting for it since I was 15.

History will write me off as a sad, nameless statistic so I might as well not have been born at all.

Zillions of people before me have been written off as sad, nameless statistics. Why did they even bother?

Well, if I had to force it, I could come up with a HUGE list of blessings in my life. Yes, I know how to count my blessings and I am really optimistic deep down inside by default (since I can’t kill myself, I might as well be optimistic).

But, you know what, bottom line, all the little blessings are meaningless when I’m faced with the horror of my unwanted existence.

Oh, well, time for bed.

Then yet another day of blah.

On and on and on and on and on and on.