That's how far I got with my suicide note, which I wrote at 5am in the morning. As you may have realised, I am writing this now and therefore I must still be living.

Pretty shitty note in my point of view, very generic. Some people call suicide selfish, I'm not so convinced.

 

I just finished reading this book called 'The Fault in our Stars'. What I liked about it the most was how the author, John Green, managed to actually articulate his amazing ideas, thoughts and perspectives on the world.

I do feel somewhat tortured by the contemporary fact, that the rather pretentious ideas, thoughts and perspectives in my head which shape how I act and view the external world, are stuck there.

 

I understand these views but only when they occupy the squishy organ in my skull. As soon as I try to articulate these views into actual words I am dumbstruck as if I just woke up from a dream and the more I try to remember what happened, the more these views seem to slip away. I am unable to articulate such views and therefore they merely dwell in my mind; mocking me.

 

But back to the inevitable doom of human existence and the pointlessness of everything.

 

Despite all my pretentious perspective, a lot of the time I feel really fucking awful and a lot of the time I think about killing myself. Sincerest apologies for dampening the mood, but let's be frank; there's a lot under the surface of life, a lot of dread and guilt and loneliness, where you wouldn't expect to find it either.

 

But that's what depression feels like, it's something that is only really understood while dwelling in your mind. Your explanation never does justice to the shear pain you feel every waking moment.And then, when you attempt to share that externalisation you're often told, "you're an amazing person"..."you have so much potential"..." this isn't your fault".

 

Fuck. I am so tired.

 

Mental illness, is not what you see in films. I'm not abnormal, I'm not insane, I'm not that weird kid. Mental illness is no different to physical illness. While a broken knee may stop you using you leg normally, mental illness stops you using your mind normally. We all live in our own little worlds up in our head, and that's why when you feel depressed you see the world as fucked up; because it makes you feel better about your own problems. You see yourself as the physical entity therefore you attach your internal emotions to the external world. Happy people do the same, we all do. Ever had a really good day and thought that the world wasn't so fucked up. Yeh, I should let you know, how you feel doesn't affect shit.

 

Now I hear you ask, who am I? Am I a bird, am I a plane highjacked by terrorists, etc etc etc...

Fear not, I am marginally overweight man, I do not have any superhuman powers, and for all intents and purposes I am pretty normal (wow this really does sound like the start of Kickass, I preferred the first one but I really did like Jim Carrey in the second one).

 

My heart feels like it's being ripped to shreds. My head hurts constantly hurts as if I just woke up from a hellish hangover. My body feels like it's being dragged into the ground. All my blinds are shut as the light hurts. I am drowning in my own petty and pointless existence. I am nothing. No one would care if I died. They would all just move on. Everyone would be better off without me.

 

I told myself and other suicidal people tell themselves this because they are in a place where the only thing holding them back from killing themselves is the guilt of the pain they will subsequently leave to people who where close to them.

 

If you know someone who is depressed or have a friend or family member who is depressed, I would like to let you know that practically whatever you say to them will not work. Depression is the worst of tortures. Whatever responsibilities they have, whoever they have relying on them, whatever the event, if they are being tortured by this illness then please please please don't fucking tell them to snap out if it.

 

Have you ever gone through something that was really tough and thought to yourself that only people who have experienced what you have experienced know the truth of the matter. It was Rousseau who said, "We only pity in others those evils we ourselves have experienced". Just because you yourself may have not experienced depression, do not be quick to judge it, because you would behave exactly the same if you had it.

 

Now back to the main theme of this article, is suicide selfish? First all, as BR3AKTHRU attempts to show the beauty in the monotony of the everyday grimy life in which the majority of young guys resign in; therefore I shall tell you a not so glamorous experience. Hopefully I haven't lost you already to going back to watching YouTube clips of past Britain's Got Talent auditions.

 

Around the same time I wrote that note, I was looking online for a suitable jumping spot, searching into google, "high places in London"; ah I love the internet. I didn't have much luck in that area, so decided to look at the feasibility of hanging myself. My room only had one light socket and I was too tall to fit into my cupboard. I went into the main bathroom in my house, a long belt dangling from my right hand. I locked the door. I stood there in silence for about a minute lost in my own pain. I'm not a religious guy but because of the protagonistic immortality films stampede us with, I always thought that something would save me, something was watching over me, something would at least happen. I looked down at the dark brown belt and then slowly brought it up and around my neck, making it tighter and tighter. I couldn't breathe. I was slowly dying and nothing was happening. A white light didn't suddenly beam me up. My life didn't pause. I just started to more desperately gasp for air. I started crying. Not because of any physical pain, but instead the emotional tidal wave; all the pain was suddenly fresh, crazily shaking my head. I let go of the belt, buckling over for a minute as I caught my breath. I then realised something beautifully terrifying, I was all alone.

 

My life rested in my hands. In that moment, while the fact that nothing came and saved me remained, I finally had something I had been craving; all depressed people crave. Control.

 

For you the reader to understand this I must once again use an analogy. You are tied to a cold metal chair. Which is enclosed in a dark black box to which their is no ability to escape from, no bars to even peek through to a better life or call for help. However you are not alone. The darkness around you has metamorphosed into a man. This man is hurting you. Again and again and again. He used to let you have a break while you slept, but now he doesn't stop hurting you. Every moment is unbearably painful. And all you have is this pain, you are no longer safe. So forget any self-actualisation bullshit because you can't even think about that while this man continues to hurt you every waking second. Then one day you see that there is a hole in the middle of the room, which will plummet you down to your death, and if you rock your chair hard enough you can fall down this hole and the pain can stop. I will tell you something now. Whoever you are, if you stay in that dark box long enough with that man, you will rock your chair and you will kill yourself. No exceptions.

 

I was stuck in that box and sometimes go back, never knowing if I will leave. Depression affects one in four people. I truly hope that you are never that one if four and never go to that black box with that man.

 

I could go on writing for hours, but I think I will round this article off. So back to question; is suicide selfish. Hell fucking no. The only thing that stops you from immediately rocking your chair is the fear that if you kill yourself, this man will get out of the box and come back with your family.

 

Sadly there is no witness protection.

 

But if you spend long enough in the box you convince yourself that you are worthless, that your family would be better off without you. You do this as you cannot bear for the man to bring out his worst of his torturing tools, guilt.

 

My name is Jacob Mornington, I have for years and sometimes still do suffer with depression, post traumatic stress disorder and anxiety. I hope you have enjoyed my first article.

 

Below I have provided links to some websites and videos that helped me.

 

 You can also directly email me anonymously - jacob@br3akthru.com