Goodbye...*TW*

[i!Poler]

I have been depressed for as long as I can remember and at 23 I wasn’t excited to live anymore.
In my early twenties when my depression became full blown I went to a sporting goods store to buy a shotgun. My mom was having serious breakdowns at that time too and at the same time that a social worker came to visit her, she saw me and I ended up telling her my plan. So they cuffed me and took me to the mental hospital, locked me up there for a week and seized and destroyed my shotgun. It was so boring and depressing being there with other mental cases far worse than me. They housed four of us per room and some older guy kept shitting himself and the entire place would have an awful stench.

The psychiatrist was a total asshole. He tried to push god on me, so I basically told him to go ###$ himself. I don’t remember exactly, but after a week of being there, they took me to a room where a judge, an advocate for patients and the psychiatrist and I all sat down and did a review of my emotions and behavior. I should have gotten an award for the performance because I knew that if I didn’t seem alright and ok, they would have kept me there longer. After the judge decided it was time to let me go, the psychiatrist flipped out and went down the hall really upset almost like he didn’t get a chance to have fun torturing another patient. The blue and white plastic bracelet on my wall is what I made when I stayed there.

After I came home, my family was nice to me for about a week and then they couldn’t hold the charade any longer and went right back to being their bored and depressing selves. I don’t blame them. My parents are truly depressed, and even so, my father worked tirelessly to provide us with a safe place to live and paid the bills. He also bought me my first computer, my first drum set, my first guitar, my first TV, my first car and many other things I can’t remember and wouldn’t have been able to provide for myself. My mother always mended clothes, made food, kept the house clean and helped me in any way her capacity would let her. My mom would always think of me when she would go shopping, she would always buy me clothes, towels, bathroom stuff, and anything she felt I needed. My parents are good honest hard working people that tried to provide the best they could. They were always thinking of me while they were going through their own hell. It’s not their fault.

I tried to kill myself again around 2010 at my sister’s house behind their garage after I bought ammunition for her handgun, loaded it, and pulled the trigger. I hadn’t pulled the slide to load one in the chamber. It was so stressful that when I pulled the trigger and nothing happened I became very angry and just quit. It is NOT easy to kill yourself. In the weeks before and after that failed attempt I tried to hang myself at my brother in laws shop once, then again in the game room of their house, but both times chickened out because I was scared of the pain and I wasn’t sure if I would succeed.

To the people who cared…
I know you are sad and angry with how I have made you feel and I’m sorry that I couldn’t hold this off any longer.

Please remember that this not your fault, this isn’t revenge and I’m not mad at anyone. It is no one’s fault, but of my own malfunctioning broken brain. We’re not a family of rocket scientists to begin with. So after a few head injuries, subpar genetics, years of unemployment, loneliness and mental illness, life has no flavor to me anymore.

I will never be able to support myself because I’m completely depressed, my brain malfunctions and I can’t remember anything. It’s so hard to pay attention long enough to get anything done, or be stable enough to learn anything. My mood swings whenever it wants however long it wants. It affects my personality, my judgment and my perception of the world, of life and me. Please understand that it was either this, or being homeless one day. Depression is a disease that interferes with living, and it cannot be fixed. I am going to eventually end up more worthless than I am now because it’s impossible to program this machine, and it only gets worse with age.

I’ll never be a happy person to share life with anyone else because I’m always battling depression and anxiety in my head. Food was the constant temporary fix and that’s why I gained so much weight. It was the only instantly-accessible drug to control the mood swings from anxiety to depression all the time. The many different types of prescription medications I’ve taken only relieved me of my anxiety but at the same time kills my libido, makes me emotionless and leaves me with depression. There is no balance in me with or without medication. There never was, but I have to thank my family and friends for their endless patience dealing with it. Even though I have enjoyed having responsible parents who didn’t abandon me, I’ve always felt empty growing up and I knew something was wrong but could never figure it out. It has taken me 32 years to understand and accept that I’m defective. No wonder I’ve never had a girlfriend, a steady job, a future, a life. I’ve always felt like a sad little kid. I look like a sad kid. My face has always betrayed me. I never grew into a man.

I have tried medications, major lap band surgery, therapists, counselors, books, working, school, exercise, dieting, drugs, sex, friendship, music, hobbies, spirituality, religion, even communicating with aliens and anything else I can get my hands on to make a change within myself and nothing motivates or inspires me, changes how I feel, or makes me want to continue living. I finally accept that I’m a broken creature so I’m not sad or upset anymore. The ride was fun while it lasted considering that some people live only for a few minutes. I don’t hate myself as a person because I like my nature during the few times I have actually realized myself while in balance. I’m just exhausted being stuck powerless to make any permanent change.

I’m sorry I’m broken, but I’m tired of trying to fix myself. I’m sorry I’m not attractive, or fun, but I’m tired of being alone. I’m sorry for talking too much or saying weird things, but I’m tired of being ignored. I’m sorry I’m not the adult everyone expects me to be, but I’m tired of being treated like a small child with small problems. I’m tired of it all. It has nothing to do with money, but only genetic resources, because you can’t buy a working brain. The inevitable would just be delayed. I’ve been depressed so long that I don’t even remember who I was anymore. Please don’t try to rationalize my decision. Understanding that 2 plus 2 equals 4 is one thing, but understanding that the answer cannot stop an itch is an entirely different plane. A plane of broken automation that logic cannot access.

Why didn’t I think of how it would make everyone feel?...well…I have, for the last 10 years and have come to the conclusion that I am permanently broken. Continuing to live because of guilt is hell. People die all the time one way or another; it’s an eventual part of life. It seems so very irrational for a vessel of life to destroy itself, but when sentience is such a complicated mechanism with many moving parts, one slip in the gears anywhere creates an exponential and perpetual series of reactions of which all proceeding outcomes become corrupted by prior failures over and over again until the machine melts down to a grinding halt. The birth and evolution of insanity to death.

My entire life has been one long preparation for the contentment of the eventual and inescapable reality of death. I think deep inside that’s what we are all doing. Our dreams, our goals, our wants, our desires and the very reason we choose to battle it out with life every day. We deal with the struggle of it all because we’re made to grow and develop emotionally by way of life experiences first, then act as a stepping stone for the future benefactor, repeatedly. That’s why our lives flash before our eyes when death is imminent. It’s an instant review of our entire life up to that point with a question of contentment, crushed to mere milliseconds and asking ourselves if we did everything we wanted in life, did we “pass the torch” and if we are finally prepared to die. Not that we have any choice in the matter really.

There was nothing more that you could have done to make a difference, so don’t feel guilty. I allow you to not feel guilty. I also allow you to feel knowing that you did the best you could without destroying yourself in the process and that is all anyone can ask for. Thank you for doing all that you did do. Trust my decision the same way that you trust the Sun to come up every morning without question. Please don’t torture yourself thinking about what more you could have done. The fault isn’t with you, it is with me, and having a chance to go back to do anything different would not have made a difference anyway.

The relationship each one of us has with life is a very personal one and this very personal decision has come from years of consideration and after many efforts to change myself with what energy and mental facilities I have.

You might not understand why I did this, and that’s a good thing, because to understand something is to go through it. You don’t want know what it’s like being stuck in a ten year daze wondering if anything will get better while constantly waking up to depression and thinking about suicide throughout the day every day.

Let anyone who wants to, read this letter if it will help at all.
I hope this answers any questions you might have. Please don’t bother with a funeral because it’s a massive rip off and I won’t allow anyone who didn’t want to see me while I was alive, to see me when I am dead. Just cremate me, it’s cheaper. Goodbye.

[Otter]

PM sent! Please read and respond. Hang in there - PLEASE!

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