Arguments of a Suicidal Mind : Me vs. Me

It feels as if I am broaching a taboo topic. After all, I was the "tough guy". The one who never needs help. The who talks other people out of (or into, depends) stupid stuff.

But I'm doing this because it feels necessary. I have been suicidal and/or depressed, on and off for the last one and a half months. I've hurt myself. I've "researched" more ways to hurt myself. A confession, if you want to put it that way. If I was writing literature, this is the point where I say "it felt good to get it off my chest". Right now, frankly, I don't care how it feels. Maybe more accurately, I've been running from myself for so long, I don't know how it feels.

(Literature does come back to me. There is this difference between the grief of youth and that of old age: youth's burden is lightened by as much of it as another shares; old age may give and give, but the sorrow remains the same.Maybe I've just grown old.) 

So I'll try to be as brutal as possible here. I have grown up thinking killing oneself is a abominable cowardly thing. I still believe so, and if, in case, I do end up doing it, I want mine to be seen as such too.

When I say I'm suicidal, I guess that means I want to kill myself. That would be both true and false.

Why do I want to die in the first place?
I hate myself. It's a dislike born of many years of (maybe unnecessary) self-analysis. 
I feel a burden to people around me. Terribly low self confidence. So low, it doesn't qualify as confidence any more, low or otherwise. 
I tell myself nobody cares. That I don't care either.
I kind of think I have run out of choices to take in my life. Some things have ruled out the options I had kept for myself. (That of course has been a major factor lately)
I am tempted to "start-over". A clean slate. One where I'm a bit less stupid, a bit more stronger.
 
And why again, do I not want to die?
Because it's the same self-analysis that tells me that at least some of that hate is misdirected.
I know I'm useful. Maybe not always. But sometimes, yes. And when I believe those who say I'm a burden, to be fair I have to believe those who say I'm not, too.
If nobody cared, then I would have been gone long back. People do care. And I do too. Maybe too much, sometimes. 
I am here because I did not know what the future held. Same applies now too.

I find telling myself that "I want to live" more often than I say "I want to die".
I want to live. I want to live so badly. I want to be happy. To be normal. To be a little less afraid. To love myself a little bit more. To have a few doubts less. To stop wanting to hurt myself. To take it one day at a time, gladly. 
I want to see what the future holds. I know I can. And no matter what happens, I still am happy with what I do have.
I am strong. I have held on for so long. I've gone through the worst. 

Now if only I could convince myself of it.

Maybe I could just live for my poems and stories.

And miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.

Monsters in the Head

I got some bad news.

I let go of some dreams.

I rejudged and rearranged a whole lot of things in my life.

I lost a hero.

I've been through all this before.

The losses, the depression following the losses, the cuts and bruises, the panic.

The trying-to-copes.

It was always bad.

There was also something else.

A sense of...well...exhilaration.

Strange word to use here, I know. But it was there. Fighting the darkness, going under, coming back, fighting again.

It was almost fun, in a way.

Not anymore.

Now it's just fear and ebbing strength and more fear.

Fear of surviving.

Not the other way round.

Fear of surviving, and be left a living wreck, to look back upon all this.

Maybe it doesn't make sense.

Nothing has, for quiet some time, to be frank.

Whispering that everything will be all right.

Knowing it won't be.

I once had a talk with a friend.

About our favourite phrase “There's always a choice”.

About how quickly choices go out of the window once things go wrong.

We were too naive to draw conclusions then, but we know better now.

The choice is never whether or not you get shit. That is never an option.

The choice is only there for whether you pass the hurt on.

And whatever you choose, it's gonna hurt you either way.

Bring's me to my other favourite phrase “You shouldn't take life to seriously, you'll never get out alive anyway.”

The Nirvana of Nothingness

I wish you could see me now.

Standing at the edge, I'm almost, funny word, peaceful.

Which way?

I've been here often over the years.

At the depths of my darkness.

The place where it doesn't hurt any more.

So tempting.

Words don't work in this place. 

Neither do hopes, dreams and shooting stars.

There's a door here.

I either walk through or walk back.

I've been here often over the years.

So tempting.

Time slows down here.

I've always walked back.

Till now.

It's only me vs. me in here.

Which way?

You flip through your life, while you take you call.

Standing at the edge.

It lists out all that hurts.

It hurts because you love it so.

I can walk through.

But I can't take with me what I love.

And I love it so.

I can walk back.

But I can't make it stop hurting.

And it hurts so.

So tempting.

Which way?

Trying to Cope

Funny thing is I feel I have been through this before. Deja vu. Fancy word.

I had become a different person out of high school and into the world. Cynical, shy, often caustic, often faithless. And lonely, both as a reason and cause.

Then, with what I call, the elasticity of youth, I was coming back. I made plans. Still tentative, still paranoid. But I put one foot in front of the other, hoping the ice doesn't crack. And to my surprise, it seemed to be holding strong.

I told myself, half laughing, half relieved, "Too good to be true." Turns out, it was. I don't want to go into the details. Stuff collapsed. Like a pack of cards. Like a bunch of dreams. At this moment, almost all of it. Almost.

Am I fine? No.

Am I coping? Yes.

Is it going to break me? Probably.

Am I going to laugh at it maybe 10 years later? Probably.


It's one of those things that is going to be a companion for many years to come. One wishes that instead it would be over quickly. Like a thunderclap, so that I can rejoice in being alive after it's over.

Or maybe, I'm just tired.
Tired of understanding.
Tired of the pillow being the only thing I don't need to be strong around.
Tired of showing a courage I don't have.
Tired of finding out time and again that I care too much to say that I don't care.
Tired of, God forgive me, listening to people.
Tired of pep talks and inspirations.

Maybe if I had a good sleep, things would change.
Maybe if I had a good sleep that I never needed to wake up from, I wouldn't be tired anymore.

Keep Running

I seem to be rushing through my days.
Blurred moments, blurred faces, blurred ache.
Running on. Running on.
Always on.
No way to rest. No place for fatigue.
Forward. Forward. I don't want to any more.
Somebody make it stop!
Don't stop,
Don't stop. To move is to hurt, but to stop is to die.
Don't weep,
Don't weep. There will always be enough time for tears.
Keep running.
Don't panic,
Don't panic. Fear is a friend. Fear will keep you alive.
Don't fight,
Don't fight. Even when the walls close in.
Keep running.
It will pass.
The thud beats out a rhythm.
Forward. Forward.
No hurts. No tears. No regrets.
Even when it bleeds.
Even when I break apart into a thousand tiny pieces.
Even when I see the hilarious injustice of it all.
Even when the grounds falls away under my feet.
Keep running. Keep running.
Someday there will be rest.
Someday the tears will flow.
Someday there will be no fear.
Someday I can let go.
Someday. Not now.
Keep running. Keep running.

Life,Blues, and Some Answers

I had been struggling since a few days to make sense of it all. People killing themselves, choices and consequences, acceptance (or rather the lack of it), and of course, human folly. In short, the usual drivel. I got caught in a Mobius loop of it all. I talked it over with a friend, and a few home truths came out.

Truth one. I am scared. I am scared every day of my life. If it goes bad, I’m scared it will go worse. If it goes good, I’m scared it will go bad. I’m scared I will not be able to cope. That I’m not good enough. That one of these days, I’ll snap.  

Truth two. I am confused. I revel in grey. I don’t put things in black and white. I wrote before of hating “straightlines and twisted logic”. I probably wear glasses to see things blurred, not to see them clear (this is metaphorically speaking, not literally!).

Truth three. I am never going to be ‘normal’, in the most ‘normal’ use of the world. I am always going to be a bit of a loner. I will always have trouble finding people who are like me (and consequently, like me. As in, ‘like’ the verb.). I may never get what I want of life.

All of which leads to Truth four. Ta-da! (Well, ok.).
When I say I am scared of snapping, I know that I will definitely snap. One day, but it’s not today. It’s never today.

When I say I am not good enough, I know it’s true. It also could have been worse. I am lucky to not be homophobic, or xenophobic, or bacillophobic. Or even a sociopath, for that matter.(Oh wait. I am probably that partially. Just kidding.).

When I say I revel in grey, I know it’s something I will struggle with for years to come. It also means I have a sharper perception of all other colours too. Specially those in people.

When I say I am not normal, I know it makes it tougher for me to survive. That doesn’t stop me from  knowing that I can. Not matter what, no matter how, I will see it through.

When I say I may not get what I want, I know that it is pretty much true, too (never mind what the birthday and new year wishes say). But I will always have what I need. Always.

I mentioned once before that I feel like a fraud with my words. Because they are just words, nothing more. But I still cling on to them, because, perhaps, they let me be who I am. And in my own poor, stupid way, I am an all right person (at least kinda).

And if the whole thing read too oxymoronic, it is probably because that’s exactly what it is. That’s why they call it life. Otherwise they would have called it three-cheese-and-pepperoni pizza. (I know you grinned at that.) 

Its Over.

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's meant to be broken 
I just want you to know who I am .

                                                      -Goo Goo Dolls - Iris

I start to see the pattern. Every time I think, this will be different, every time I open up, I’m only handing people ammunition. I understand that no matter what I do, I cannot make the world love me. There is nothing to love, nothing to respect. Only a black self-annihilating void. I abhor myself and everything that I tried to hold close. I seem to have some kind of anti-Midas touch, whatever I touch turns to poison.

I realise the fact that I am a fool and a fraud. My words are just that, words. They have no power, no life. Except to bring out the pathetic whining of my demented mind. My ideals have been shattered, each pounded to pieces. My ideas ring hollow and false.

Its time I called myself a failure. I lost. I thought I would make my own rules. I thought I would be good at what I am good at. I tried to make the small things count. But I am only mediocre. I am defeated. My best is not good enough. I am not good enough. I am sorry. I tried.

Its over. I would be lying if I said there is nothing left for me here. There is. But somehow, I don’t find it in me any more to seek it. I know it’s not the worst a person can go through. Not even close. But this time, I just want to give up. I would fight it, if I could. Smashed, broken and bleeding, I would have hung on. But I don’t want to, not any more. I want to let go.

I guess that also makes me a coward. How fitting. That I should become everything that I have always hated. But I can and will maintain one last semblance of prestige. I shall not make excuses. The only faults to be found, I will find in me. Not in the world, not in life, not in any one.

Please know that I love you, in my own weird way, across the words. Every one. Thank you for listening. Whether a minute or an hour or a year, you brightened up a stupid girl’s world. Whether you knew or not.

As I read this over, it sounded a bit like a suicide note. No, you probably won’t find a body on the bed tomorrow morning. But if you search in the rubbish heap, you might just find a soul. 

Goodbye.

[image courtesy:http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2203/2498445479_064841a97d_o.jpg]