/lit/ - Literature

1/2
Nobody who has conditioned themselves to care for others desires becoming a burden onto the people they love. There are many things that pull a human being toward suicide, but none more powerful than money or finances. This is indeed due to the fact that we human beings are born into a system that was long designed, developed, and maintained before we were born. There have been men and women who have challenged this system, but only to be suffocated by its powerful continuity

I fear and enjoy this world just as much as the next human being.

I am a person, both by choice and circumstance, who is limited in companionship and friendship. Thus, these relationships are a fragile existence. When they deteriorate, a wave of depression and sadness fills every vein in my body; from my toes to my finger tips. No doubt, others have succeeded in finding coping strategies for these kinds of emotions.

It must be said, I have been working up the courage to end my life. This has become a long process, built up as I continue to age. As a result of this process, I often find myself thinking deeply into what my life means inside the cosmos. Perhaps I am searching for a suitable answer that will justify suicide, or perhaps more so, I wish to construct an accurate assumption of human reality, so that I may indeed end my life. Indeed, this does seem to be the reason for the longer contemplations: I wish to see my human existence naked, pure, and real; with all its suffering and joy, inseparable from the world and myself. Perhaps I imagine the ending of my life not filled with melancholy, fear, or anger, but wit a simple understanding; Somewhere between unconditional love and unconditional surrendering. What would such a feeling be like? Would it be numbness? Apathy? Silent? Of course this is all a romantic idea circling in my head to prepare for suicide. After my death, any practical human being will realize that I no longer exist, apart from however the living still view me, but that of course is inside them, not me, that is their constructed image of me. I will be dead, shared with all the countless nameless, unrecognized dead across the history of space and time.

What are /lit/'s thoughts on suicide?