Fuck this post
Fuck this post so much.
You want a “Why not?”
How about the way your best friend’s older sister will throw up by the side of the road because she’s crying so hard
How about the way your best friend will sob for weeks in her showers, in her bedroom, in the bathroom at school
How about the way your mother will cry every time she looks at herself in the mirror and pictures herself bringing you home
How about the way your father’s eyes will NEVER stop mirroring the image of your hanging body
How about the way your boyfriend will sit in his room in silence, unable to eat or sleep, or even to fucking shower, because why would he want to continue without you
How about the way the girl who called you a brother will start crying every time she sees your parents
How about the way your family will sit in your house after the funeral looking blankly at one another, because god knows they can’t find a fucking thing to say that doesn’t just float through the air where you should be walking
How about the way your sister will wake up every morning and see your door and convince herself that you could still be there, just sleeping in your bed
How about the way your ex girlfriend will come over and pull your clothes from the drawers and cry while she holds them desperately to her face to breathe in what’s left of you
Don’t you dare tell me it won’t change things
There may be stars in the sky and wind in the air and sun in the clouds
But without you we do not want them
Don’t you dare be selfish enough to believe you aren’t important to us
So fuck this post
and fuck this romanticism of suicide
and fuck you for leaving my sister to cry in her room when she thinks nobody can hear
Reblogging because yes, fuck this post.
This is amazing.
Okay I’m not taking sides here or anything, but.. this is a pretty damn selfish post. Someone is miserable every moment of the day, to a point you can’t understand unless you’ve felt it yourself, to the point where the ultimate biological imperative of staying alive and passing on your genes becomes irrelevant because the only concern is not falling into a deep depression and forgetting to eat for a week while you lay in bed 24/7 because everything is about as interesting as a rock. And because you don’t want to have to go through the trouble of mourning and having to feel the way that that depressed person does for a couple months at most, you want this poor person to just sit there completely broken like he’s a damn painting in your house whose only use is to entertain you. All that shit listed about how your best friend and sister and mother and whoever will feel so damn sad if your off yourself is ironic. Do you realize that a someone who’s depressed to the point of suicidal ideation feels all that shit EVERY DAY? The only difference is you know that eventually you’ll get over it, maybe not completely, but at least to the point where you can give a happy life. That’s a luxury a anhedonic person just doesn’t have. Fuck you for being such a selfish asshole.
You’re the type that makes a loved one dying of cancer hold on for an extra year of chemo, vomiting, nerve damage, pain, hopelessness, and pure human misery just so you can talk to them about everything inconsequential in between their writhing in pain and vomiting to the point where they tear their stomach lining. Which if you’ve ever experienced, you know is one of the most miserable experiences you could go though. Wanna eat food? Too bad your stomach can’t handle it and you’re forced to go hungry until it heals, lest you projectile vomit it all over your hospital bed. Wanna drink water? Too bad, you’ll just throw it up and tear your stomach lining ever more. Want relief from the pain? Well the thing about the pain of damaged intestinal tract tissue is that the weakest painkiller that works is morphine. The really amazing thing is that someone can be so selfish. You know why chemo kills cancer cells? It’s poison. Literally. That’s why it also destroys your nerves and makes you vomit uncontrollably when you’re lucky enough not to be shitting yourself. Which doesn’t even cover the pain, so severe that the strongest painkillers we have are barely enough to take the edge off, let alone feel like a normal human being. No sleep, no peace, no eating a decent meal, no hope for a bright future, your only existence is physically breaking down in a hospital bed while loved ones come to gawk at you while you vomit all over your self.
And I use chemo mostly because it’s a easily relatable example. Depressed people aren’t quite as miserable but they aren’t exactly happy either. You know what anhedonia means? No pleasure. As in you only feel either numb, or like complete shit. If you’ve ever met an anhedonic person you know just how fundamentally it affects a person. I hardly even know how to describe it. Robotic, lifeless, consciously unconscious, hardly a life at all. I remember this one girl in particular I met who’d just stand are stare all day, never moving where she sits or where her eyes go. LIke a living statue, only much more true than a performance artist. I remember they had to feed her, otherwise she’d just go on staring straight until she starved to death. I’d seriously rather be a crackhead or a heroin junkie, at least then I can feel something approaching happiness. Something approaching feeling like a human.
BUT then again, complete anhedonia is rare, mostly only seen with the worst cases of treatment-resistant depression. And for a majority of people things do get significantly better even if it doesn’t feel like it ever will. In that sense suicide under these circumstances is a fool’s way out. It’s like jumping out of a boat because it’s going through a storm. Yeah sure the ride is rocky and kinda sucks, and you might even drown. But you also just might eventually reach land and be able to live a normal, happy life.
Actually a lot of recent research shows that depressed and bipolar people tend to be more creative. For example look up a couple really famous artists, whether they be painters, writers, playwrights, musicians, or anything else like that; you’ll notice that there are a disproportionately large amount of people with depression or bipolarism. I mean if you look at Hemingway’s family tree, like half the people there offed themselves. But I think if you asked him, he’d rather be a miserable Hemingway than a happy nobody. Winston Churchill also had depression, when he talked about it he said he was constantly hounded by his ‘black dog’. I’ve heard a couple times that Lincoln was depressed too, I definitely know his wife was.
It’s real easy to list all the stuff that could possibly go wrong as a result of a difficult life, but what about what goes right? People with hard lives tend to be more ‘down to earth’, appreciative, hard working, successful, and mature. It pays to learn early on just how shitty a place this planet can be, it’s almost like a vaccine. People can get used to almost anything, it’s just difficult so people assume it isn’t possible to. But by the time he was 18 Alexander the Great was already a king and leading his soldiers to war, by the time he was 28 he created one of the biggest empires in the history of the world. Hannibal the Conquerer had his soldiers march through a marsh for four days straight and then take on an army, which he still managed to obliterate. Every day there are hundred of thousands of impoverished people in third world countries working their asses off more than most of us ever will doing manual labor for a couple bucks per day. People are much much more capable than they think they are, but the easy way out is always tempting.
So on the one hand it just might be an unconquerable problem, but then again it just might drive you to become one of the world’s most famous artists, politicians or scientists in history. So I suppose the point of all this is that it’s a deeply personal choice, and to personalize it and then guilt trip people into doing what you think is right is misleading and possibly even cruel. As a general rule I’m against suicidal behavior, but I’m also against guilting suicidal people into sticking around. Their body, their choice, righ? I thought tumblr was all about that.