Preface to a Suicide Note
So this is it…
Why should he go any further, where to, and for what purpose? There was no more purpose, there was nothing more than a deep, painful longing to shake off this whole confused dream, to spit out this stale wine, to make an end to this bitter, painful Life
– Siddhartha, Herman Hesse –
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
– An Irishman Foresees his Death, W.B. Yeats –
For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
– The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot –
I’ve been perfectly sober for a whole month now, but as I sit down to type these words I’m pretty sure that they will read like the words of a madman, like the random blabberings of a drunk.
It’s been hard since ever, yet less than a year ago something changed, and it only managed to make things much worse. How did I ever end up leaving my shell and trying to explore this stupid little world? Damn you Moe for all the help you have given me. Hope exists until you actually decide to pursue it, cause then it disappears and you realize it was just a trick your mind was playing on you, it was just a mirage created by the dehydration levels your body has reached. After that you’re left with the nothing you started with, and the nothing that replaced what you were hoping for. And of course, ironically, you’ve outgrown your shell and you can never get back to it.
I have reached an empty chamber, and I’m surrounded by closed doors that cover its walls entirely, doors that I don’t have the keys to, blocking my way to the things that I never really wanted. I’m stuck, and the emptiness of the chamber is driving me crazy, consuming whatever is left of my energy to continue the journey in case any of the doors is unexpectedly opened from the other side. Everything has happened before, and every step along this journey reeks with that awful smell of déjà vu. Thoughts are flowing in and out of my head like a stream, but this rock remains stable in the middle, disrupting the flaw of everything, and I’m just too consumed to move it, or carry it on to the shore.
Before I proceed, I have to confess that I never believed in modesty, seeing how the ugly and the stupid wear it daily to hide their flaws always made me sick. Now I can state, in all modesty, that I’m probably the smartest and the most honest person I've ever met. This is probably why I can’t lie to myself; because I’m too honest to do that in the first place, and if I ever decided to do that I know that I’m too smart to be fooled by my own lies. How can people accept the mediocrity of this life and go on acting like it’s perfect! How can they go fishing in the desert and convince themselves that the worms and snakes they’re catching are actually fish.
I envy the stupid little cripples; they’re so far away from the borders in a way that makes all limits invisible. They can be happy about the tiny steps they take, and celebrate their successful crawling with nothing to disturb their silly little minds. I’ve always felt that I’ve finished the race a million years ago, and I’ve been standing on the borders ever since, all alone, where I can see nothing but the limits.
They say that Christ has died for our sins, carrying our burdens when he was crossed; the idiot must have missed mine. I’ve been carrying the cross since I was born, and I never knew why I was being tortured and punished for God’s own failures. Sacrifice is an ugly thing when it’s forced upon you. I’ve tried so many times to convince myself that “At some point, we must’ve chosen Life” but I never reached that point, and I can’t see it anywhere in my path. This makes me believe that once the gates are open, I might be able to reach that point, as I stand before the almighty and ask him in all humility “Why did you have to create me, you fucking bastard? You had billions and billions of others to toy with… And if you couldn’t resist the urge to fool around with something different, why did you have to give me a mind identical to yours, incapable of feelings that both of us have envied humans for having, and yet denied me any of your powers?”
I’m sick of everyone, my real friends and fabricated enemies alike. I’m sick of you, and you, and him and her, and her, and her. I have reached a point where I can no longer tolerate the Stupidity, the Ignorance, the Ugliness, the Selfishness, the Hypocrisy, the Contradiction, the Carelessness, the Shallowness and Superficiality, the stupid Imitation and Lack of originality that I see everyday. And above all that, I’m sick of all the lies, of all the stupid games, of all the smiles and niceties, of every little stupid detail we use to hide what’s truly inside. Why can’t this world be just perfect and honest, and why doesn't anyone seem to be upset cause it’s not?
This is it…
I have this strange desire to either destroy myself, or to destroy the rest of the world. Sadly I’m too consumed to go on with the former, and I never had the power to do the latter. The pain is too much, but I can’t do anything about it….. I need a break, a serious one; I need a Hundred years of sleep, without any thoughts or dreams. I need someone to toss me back there, among the cripples, so I can start the race again and perhaps enjoy the struggle for a few seconds before I reach the borders once again. Well, perhaps what I really need is a beautiful end to these ugly words, but I’m just too tired and consumed to think of any.
Why should he go any further, where to, and for what purpose? There was no more purpose, there was nothing more than a deep, painful longing to shake off this whole confused dream, to spit out this stale wine, to make an end to this bitter, painful Life
– Siddhartha, Herman Hesse –
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
– An Irishman Foresees his Death, W.B. Yeats –
For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
– The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot –
I’ve been perfectly sober for a whole month now, but as I sit down to type these words I’m pretty sure that they will read like the words of a madman, like the random blabberings of a drunk.
It’s been hard since ever, yet less than a year ago something changed, and it only managed to make things much worse. How did I ever end up leaving my shell and trying to explore this stupid little world? Damn you Moe for all the help you have given me. Hope exists until you actually decide to pursue it, cause then it disappears and you realize it was just a trick your mind was playing on you, it was just a mirage created by the dehydration levels your body has reached. After that you’re left with the nothing you started with, and the nothing that replaced what you were hoping for. And of course, ironically, you’ve outgrown your shell and you can never get back to it.
I have reached an empty chamber, and I’m surrounded by closed doors that cover its walls entirely, doors that I don’t have the keys to, blocking my way to the things that I never really wanted. I’m stuck, and the emptiness of the chamber is driving me crazy, consuming whatever is left of my energy to continue the journey in case any of the doors is unexpectedly opened from the other side. Everything has happened before, and every step along this journey reeks with that awful smell of déjà vu. Thoughts are flowing in and out of my head like a stream, but this rock remains stable in the middle, disrupting the flaw of everything, and I’m just too consumed to move it, or carry it on to the shore.
Before I proceed, I have to confess that I never believed in modesty, seeing how the ugly and the stupid wear it daily to hide their flaws always made me sick. Now I can state, in all modesty, that I’m probably the smartest and the most honest person I've ever met. This is probably why I can’t lie to myself; because I’m too honest to do that in the first place, and if I ever decided to do that I know that I’m too smart to be fooled by my own lies. How can people accept the mediocrity of this life and go on acting like it’s perfect! How can they go fishing in the desert and convince themselves that the worms and snakes they’re catching are actually fish.
I envy the stupid little cripples; they’re so far away from the borders in a way that makes all limits invisible. They can be happy about the tiny steps they take, and celebrate their successful crawling with nothing to disturb their silly little minds. I’ve always felt that I’ve finished the race a million years ago, and I’ve been standing on the borders ever since, all alone, where I can see nothing but the limits.
They say that Christ has died for our sins, carrying our burdens when he was crossed; the idiot must have missed mine. I’ve been carrying the cross since I was born, and I never knew why I was being tortured and punished for God’s own failures. Sacrifice is an ugly thing when it’s forced upon you. I’ve tried so many times to convince myself that “At some point, we must’ve chosen Life” but I never reached that point, and I can’t see it anywhere in my path. This makes me believe that once the gates are open, I might be able to reach that point, as I stand before the almighty and ask him in all humility “Why did you have to create me, you fucking bastard? You had billions and billions of others to toy with… And if you couldn’t resist the urge to fool around with something different, why did you have to give me a mind identical to yours, incapable of feelings that both of us have envied humans for having, and yet denied me any of your powers?”
I’m sick of everyone, my real friends and fabricated enemies alike. I’m sick of you, and you, and him and her, and her, and her. I have reached a point where I can no longer tolerate the Stupidity, the Ignorance, the Ugliness, the Selfishness, the Hypocrisy, the Contradiction, the Carelessness, the Shallowness and Superficiality, the stupid Imitation and Lack of originality that I see everyday. And above all that, I’m sick of all the lies, of all the stupid games, of all the smiles and niceties, of every little stupid detail we use to hide what’s truly inside. Why can’t this world be just perfect and honest, and why doesn't anyone seem to be upset cause it’s not?
This is it…
I have this strange desire to either destroy myself, or to destroy the rest of the world. Sadly I’m too consumed to go on with the former, and I never had the power to do the latter. The pain is too much, but I can’t do anything about it….. I need a break, a serious one; I need a Hundred years of sleep, without any thoughts or dreams. I need someone to toss me back there, among the cripples, so I can start the race again and perhaps enjoy the struggle for a few seconds before I reach the borders once again. Well, perhaps what I really need is a beautiful end to these ugly words, but I’m just too tired and consumed to think of any.
posted by Without a Cause at 2:18 PM
6 Comments:
A first indication of glimmering understanding is the desire to die. This life seems unendurable, another unreachable. One no longer feels ashamed of wanting to die; one petitions to be moved from one's old cell, which one hates, into a new one, which one will come to hate. A last vestige of belief is involved here, too, for during the move might not the prison governor by chance walk down the passage, see the prisoner, and say: " Don't lock this man up again. He is coming with me."
Kafka
Fuck you, why do you have to do this now...
As much as I don't appreciate some of the things that have been said in your post as much as I can say that you make your reality.
I know I'm one of those who you can't stand and make the world such a horrible place but if you believe the things you write they will remain your reality for as long as you want.
if you don't understand why life is like that then try to understand it don't go around accusing people and things for your own misery. I don't want you crippled or dead. if you need a break take one.
I am talking from a 'been there done that' perspective. I'm telling you i felt exactly what you felt and believe me I got it for as long as I wanted.
I snapped out of it. I know my life is not your ideal good life a person should live but I had to say this.
Life is not fair nor it is easy but it sure can be amazing if you want it to be. if you were supposed to be crippled u would have but you are not, you're a person with brains, use them.
If I think twice about this I won't post it, so here goes.
Kill yourself.
Would you do that now?
I guess not. You're not a doer, are you?
It disturbs me, the way you judge other human beings. The way you seriously think people stupidly go on pretending the world is perfect. Well, here's the thing: going on living doesn't mean pretending the world is perfect. Going on living doesn't mean you believe life is beautiful. It just means what it means, going on. We think too highly of ourselves. You think too highly of yourself. You're fundamentally decaying organic matter like me, like everyone else. Atoms of carbon, hydrogen and oxygen for the most part. A heart machine that will expire. We look down on other animals. We could never really pretend to know if they think or not or how complex their minds truly are. I can crush an ant with my foot... nothing is easier. I can end a life. Whether or not that ant was begging for it, I have no idea. Whether or not it was smarter than its fellow ants, I have no way of finding out, and I don't care. In the same way, higher creatures, God if you will, don't care. They simply don't know what we're going through and don't give a shit if we live or die. Again, I can slay a lamb with my knife. Its death is its own loss, its very own loss. Are you following me? I don't care if the fucking lamb dies. I cook it, I eat it for lunch. I can certify that it's dead, dead, dead, dead.
And death is no relief because you won't be there to feel it. Death is no release because there would be no you to experience it. You're shut down, that's it. And I would rather be in pain than not be at all. I would rather feel a poetic nothing than a real nothing. Pinch yourself, you're alive. Have you seen a dead body? It won't twitch to your touch. It can't sense its relief from its misery. Have you seen a dead body? Maybe it's not "empty" in the sense that a soul was stolen away from it. Maybe it's just a system that stopped functioning. A body that is no longer perceiving the world.
The world is not perfect, no. But I would rather pretend the world is perfect than not be in the world, and I would rather be in the herd than not be at all. Yes, yes, I would. You know why? Because I'm a coward, and nothing scares me like nothingness. Go ahead, judge me... isn't that what you do best? Judge those who are too absorbed living life, worrying about small details like school, that job interview, that appointment, that pair of jeans, that movie... but who's to say who's more alive than the other? Everybody choses how they spend their time. If dreaming makes it easier, then dream. If you need to deny certain truths, go ahead. It's each person's own business, because at the end of the day, your life is your loss or your gain. People cry a little, some cry a little more, but they move on. They live. The dead person is the loser, because even if he were better off, he won't know it. You with me?
We're organic creatures. We're systems. We're predictable... it's sad. But we're also fluid. We respond to stress, we change... even our thoughts do. As superficial as it may sound, go live for two weeks in the countryside in France or in Germany, and see what it does to you. See if you're still the same person. Spend three nights in the Mummelsee, in Peru, in Antarcatica. We're biological systems. As superficial as it may seem, your diet changes the way you feel. Go vegetarian for three months. Fast for one month. Turn yourself into a field for experiments and tell me... isn't it sad that we're so scientifically explainable?
Save some money and travel. Travel. See misery, see joy, see different definitions of being alive. See different definitions of purpose. Look through a giant telescope at a now-dead star... stare at the past! Do. Do. Be a doer. Don't be exclusively a thinker. Doing changes our thinking, and thinking changes our doing. Do LSD... now that's a different reality. And if you're planning on dying anyway, an irreversible personality change shouldn't worry you that much. Personality change, there you go! A chemical substance like lysergic acid can alter the whole way you think, even what you are. Don't give much weight to thoughts, they're mortal, deceiving... they're chemical compounds in disguise! I'm too earthly. I am. I'm not done living. I wanna make music and make love and travel the world and make more music and maybe play till I drop dead. There are things you do that give you enormous, inexplainable fulfillment you stop thinking about purpose. A passion, I call it. A distraction, you may also call it. A sweet lie.
Have you made love to someone you're truly crazy about and who's completely crazy about you? That climax expressed in Barber's Adagio for Strings? Do that, do that, and tell me... what's the purpose of being alive? Tell me, what's the point?
I don't care what the point is.
I'm sorry. But a few years ago I was shaken, and now I can't sympathize with images of locked doors and empty chambers. <"When you're not allowed to feel, death seems like a dream. But seeing death, really seeing it, makes dreaming about it fucking ridiculous."
Girl interrupted. A cliche. Judge me.
I'm not gonna tell you I was on the verge of suicide myself, because the stupidist thing to say to someone in despair is "I know what you feel." And I can almost hear you say, "Fuck you, fuck you, you do NOT know what I feel! Fuck you, I'm not a mirror of you. You're not me, and you'll never really see me. Shut up, you have no idea what I'm talking about." You said it yourself: there's not a thought you've thought that hasn't been thought before. No idea of yours is original. You're not original, you're not different. Stop elevating yourself by comparison- comparison is always misleading, and this country may not be the greatest specimen. Everything is boring repetition... why live? I don't know. There may not be a purpose. Why live? Because I happen to be alive. No, I didn't choose it. But if the other option is death, then no thank you. Limiting, but aren't we limited ourselves?
Do. Do. Do life, do death, but do.
Oh, and I'm sorry I'm anonymous. I hate it when people do that to me, but I'm doing it right here. I don't want my words to be associated with who I am. I'm a hypocrite.
Oh, but if you kill yourself, I'll be sad. Seriously, I love you. I love your mind, to be more accurate, or that which you choose to share of it, whether it's truly you or not.
Lara u missed the point. Sam u got some of it and missed a great deal. The travel idea is just perfect tho!
You idiot, listen. I always try to prove you wrong when u think like that. Because the ideas are self destructive, and am too selfish in that, self-destruction is a right i keep to myself and deny others. It might be my training that did that, but who cares. Even now i have a thousand arguments i can make, and you are used to that. However i will not. For the simple fact that what you say is true.
Man when you're feeling up for it, pass by my place for a drink. I want to give you Sartre's 'Nausea' to read.
my friend, what is life? it is a period of time. it is the sum of minutes, seconds and hours from when you are formed, until you die. nothing before, nothing after.
what is happiness? it is a state of mind. your own brain creates it, and your own brain denies it.
what are we? each one of us is one in a countless number of ones, a nothing compared to everything.
why don't you just realize the above and put an end to your "disappointment" in "life"?
why do you have to use your intelligence and depth to turn your life into complete misery? while it is very possible to do just the opposite using the same tools.
I personally believe that it is not "life" that you hate, because life is just a period of time, it is yourself who you really are disappointed at, because you haven't achieved what you wanted during the time that has already passed, and you don't see yourself becoming it as time passes.
as much as i enjoy reading your blogs and admire your style in writing, i would much rather see you happy, and that is why i suggest that you take a more realistic approach to life; know what you want, work towards it, and enjoy the present at the same time.
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