Nausea and silence
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Nausea and silence

This is a discussion on Nausea and silence within the Suicide forums, part of the Suicide Forums category; Whoever you are, I deeply thank you for reading this. I shall try to be as honest as possible, but ...

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Old 05-03-17, 12:05 PM   #1
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Default Nausea and silence

Whoever you are, I deeply thank you for reading this. I shall try to be as honest as possible, but my perspective on myself has inevitable blind spots. I hope that what Iím about to write is truly sincere and not a lie intended to alleviate my boredom and emotional numbness.

I need to talk about suicide.

Iím not immediately suicidal. Iíve never truly felt the desire to die. Iíve never felt intense pain and despair to such a degree that an escape into an eternal dreamless sleep would seem preferable. I donít intentionally harm myself. I donít hide from reality in chemical addictions. I donít have any harmful family or romantic relationships. My life has been relatively lucky, and my inevitable death frightens me in the usual way it frightens most people. And like most people I live day to day with the illusion that death is something that happens to those other people. Not to me.

I enjoy living. Life is endlessly fascinating and beautiful. Simply put, life is worth living.

But I think Iím wrong. I fear that Iím wrong, and that the suicides are right, and that their intense despair is clarity. Or maybe for most their despair isnít clarity, but that doesnít matter, because, whatever their motivations, the result of their actions is clear and for the better. If a painful terminal illness causes a thirsty animal to hallucinate that thereís an oasis beyond the edge of a cliff and the animal falls to its quick death, does it matter whether or not the hallucination was true or false, so long as a slow dreadful death was avoided?

The human condition is a random, meaningless hell-trap in which we as a species are caught and have masochistically brainwashed ourselves into believing is a preferable existence. Love, beauty, and joy are real and miraculous, but they are fading candle flames in the void, and not the sunrise we hope them to be. And the best we can strive for is to huddle round those dim lights while our bodies slowly betray us and die. At its rare best, life is ultimately tragic, but otherwise it's just a pathetic farce. It would be better to die soon, best to have never been born. And for loveís sake, donít have children!

Some part of me agrees with the previous paragraphs ďintellectuallyĒ, but I just donít feel it. However, Iím afraid I will someday. Iím even afraid Iíll desire to feel it, if only for once to escape being a hypocrite. I fear that hopeless clarity like a distant light in a dark tunnel signally an on-coming train. Some sleepless night, perhaps when Iím much older and my life hasnít been so lucky, the despair will finally become painfully clear, like an intense fire radiating from my mind to my guts. And on that night suicide will be so obvious.


Several years ago, during a difficult moment in her life, a friend asked me what I would do if I found out the next day that she had killed herself. I answered that for the rest of my life I would regret that I hadnít tried to stop her by telling her the conventional ďclichťd bullshitĒ.

My friend didnít kill herself that night, but she never replied to my answer. And as far as I know, she has since recovered from her depression, but the cold impotence of my answer has haunted me ever since. Whenever I recall my silence I feel nauseated. Whatís wrong with my soul, for lack a better term, when a friend opens herself to me with a question that is at once so violent and yet so vulnerable, so in need of compassion, and then I answer her with such emptiness?

That nausea and silence came back when I read some suicidal posts on this forum. "They're right," a voice whispered in my head, "I'm so sorry, but you are all right. I wish I had more to tell you but I don't. I'm so sorry."

And if thatís all the help I can gave, what help will I be to myself when that night comes to me and suicide is glaringly obvious?
One of my favorite plays is The Sunset Limited by Cormac McCarthy, about a reverend who saves a man from suicide and for the rest of the play tries to convinces this man to go on living. The play ends with the suicidal man leaving to go kill himself again, and the reverend sobbing to God:
"He didn't mean them words. You know he didn't. You know he didn't. I don't understand what you sent me down there for. I don't understand it. If you wanted me to help him how come you didn't give me the words? You give them to him. What about me?"
I want to face my nausea and silence. I want the words, but I'm not sure if I have any hope that they'll be strong enough, or even that they exists.

Help me.

Thank you for reading this. Good luck today,
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Old 05-03-17, 02:02 PM   #2
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I read your post but don't have any answers to the questions you asked, can't really think straight tonight (too tired) but wanted to let you know someone read your post and to leave some for you
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Old 05-03-17, 05:31 PM   #3
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Thank you for reply, even if it was only to say you read my post.

There's something very disturbing about looking at the number 0 next to a post in which you've opened your heart to strangers.

For reasons I already explained, I've been hesitant to reply to any unanswered threads, because I don't feel that I have anything that can help them. But maybe it's enough just let people know that I've heard their cry.

Again thank you.
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