Today, I planned my death. I will mix my sleeping pills into the mickey of Jack Daniel’s that I always carry around and I will finally allow myself to fall into that coveted eternal sleep of which I’ve been speaking for years. I will choose a time when I’ve no obligations and I will take swig after swig of that drugged whisky until I cannot keep my eyes open. Then I will fall asleep and finally be rewarded with everlasting peace.
I realised that, despite wanting to kill myself for years, I had been talking myself out of it. Not because I think there are better ways to deal with my problems, but because I was preoccupied with how it would negatively effect my loved ones. I had decided that I would live my life according to my own rules and my own wants and desires, but here I was denying myself the one thing that would truly make me happy all because I was afraid it would break the heart of my mother, my boyfriend, my best friends.
That was all done at the risk of my own misery though. I was making myself suffer the agony of my depression for the sake of others. Even when I tried to put myself first, I ended up putting myself last. So, I’ve decided that I’ve had enough of it. I am done dealing with the melancholia which burrows away in the deepest recesses of my soul and emerges at the most inopportune times to weigh me down and revert me to a shadow of my former self. To hell with fighting off the sadness, to hell with coping with it; I have always had a way out and I have been brainwashed to avoid it, but not any more.
My mother will be heartbroken, so will my boyfriend, best friends, and anyone else who has ever cared about me in the slightest. But their pain will be minute compared to the anguish I endure on a daily basis. They’ll mourn me for a few weeks, maybe a few months or years, but eventually they’ll get used to my not being there. They’ll be free of the burden that is me and my gloom and eventually they’ll come to realise that that they’re glad I ended myself. On the other hand, if I continue to live I will be regularly made to deal with the feelings of utter uselessness, the feelings of complete devastation for no reason, feelings of the harshest melancholia you could ever imagine times a hundred. I will end up spending my life as a series of misery with no end because it isn’t anything in my life that triggers it, it’s just me.
The poisonous seed of sorrow is buried deep in the soil of my soul and that miserable plant has set its roots too deep in me to be easily removed. In fact, it is glued to my very being so that no matter where I go or with whom, no matter what I do or how, no matter what I try, it will always be that sticky black spot on my soul that will grow and shrink over time, but never completely disappear. I am a prisoner to my depression and the only way I can end it is by ending myself, but the only thing stopping me from ending it is causing the heartbreak of my loved ones.
Though, if they really love me, why don’t they want to see me at peace in death rather than suffering in life? If they really love me, why don’t they encourage me to do what it takes to find that tranquility that I have been craving for so, so long instead of making me fight a losing battle? Aren’t they just being selfish when they said that suicide isn’t the answer because they want me to stick around? Aren’t they being unfair to my soul — my soul, which is the purest part of me and which deserves the freedom it so craves? My mortal being is a waste of time, energy and space, but my soul is perfect and pure. It deserves to be rid of my incredibly fallible and faulty mortal self.
At my most vulnerable I find myself sitting among the empty pews of any church that will accept me and I weep uncontrollably for my wounded soul. I stare up at the stained glass Jesus Christ looking so forlorn and I cry harder. I beg him to tell me why — when he knows just how awful it is to suffer — he doesn’t save me from my own pain. I beg him to tell me what it is I’ve done wrong to have deserved feeling this way and I promise to do anything at all if he’ll just stop making me hurt so much. He never listens though.
And so, today I’ve decided to grant my soul its one and only desire: to be set free; a gift only I can give myself. Some people may be saddened at first, but they will get over it like they get over everything. Most of all, I will finally have that freedom which I so crave; freedom from this world, from this body, from this agony. Salvation.