So, I’ve been doing journal writing for a long time now. Lately, its been feeling like such an incredibly solitary task. So I decided to make it public – see what happens.
So, first things first. I’m incredibly fucked up.
But, I’m also intelligent, creative, compassionate – well, you get the idea.
Right now, depending on how you look at it, wither my life is very blessed, or barely tolerable.
Another thing you should know is that I’m categorically against suicide. I’m sure I’ll talk more about this later. For now, though, let’s just say that suicide is not an option for me. It’s not so much a philosophical thing, but a practical one Suicide leaves a legacy, and that is something that I could never inflict upon my loved ones.
The reason I bring this up is that for a very long time I have been struggling greatly with my life. were it not for this self-imposed edict, I would have checked out long ago. You might think that this might be someone comforting – suicidal ideation can be very taxing. This is something I will never have to worry about. What this directive, a permanent fixture in my life, does is it removes any sort of possibility of escape. No matter how desperate my life becomes, I, by my own design, have to live through it.
In writing the last paragraph I almost wrote self-harm instead of suicide. While they are intimately related, I have no compunction (at least sub-consciously) against self-harm. In fact. When it comes down to it, I’ve become a master at it.