Almost unconsciously preparing for my suicide...

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I wasn't really having a bad day..... actually, I was feeling fairly okay. I just told something that I am constantly feeling. I always am suicidal... even when I am "happy". To add to it all... I have absolutely no friends. I used to be close friends to guy in another country, for years, before, and we used to SMS or MMS each other, and support each other in difficulties, but we clearly have lost contact, now. I suppose it either is because he moved on with life, or because he got fed up with my constant negativity.... like another person I was friends with, before, who definitely has cut off contact with me. It apparently didn't even matter that I promised her that I would act more positive.... act, as in bottling all my negativity up, instead, of course.... :/ additionally, my "therapists" cut off all contact with me, claiming that they are not meant to give support for people with Asperger's, and that I had to look for "support" elsewhere, telling me where to go. Apparently, they assume it is easy to find someone else to talk with, easily.... I couldn't even cover up my disappointment, when they told me that. It's not like I was honest with them, since they would lock me up in a psych ward, if I was, but at least I had *someone to talk to*. But talking with them was of course just a lie, anyway... however, talking with those past friends was not. Depression really is a terrible curse...... when you need people more than anything, they turn away from you, because they do not want to deal with it. A few times is okay, sometimes many times is okay, but after a while, they will distance themselves from you, so they will not become depressed, themselves..... it's basically like life is telling you to go ahead and take your life. Of course, I already know I should. There is no real reason to my life, other than me finding the courage to take my life. Even if I was very happy with my true love, I would *still* want to take my life. This life, on this planet, is too flawed to live for a longer time......



That's just delusional...... and his experiences can't be applied to my views on life, anyway.... he isn't me, and he clearly has very different views on life than I have.



I never had a happy place. I have been depressed all my life. Even as a child. Even *before* people started bullying me, I was depressed. I have always felt out of place. I have always felt that something is not as it should be. I thought of my next life as a child, already, when I was eight or nine. Already then, I knew I shouldn't be here......




Neither is there evidence that anyone but me exists, as well, right? (Or you, for that matter.) Yet, I assume this, without proof. How foolish of me.




Ghosts do exist. Just because you say they don't, it doesn't make it so. Hence, souls also exist, of course, and so does the afterlife. This also is supported by the scientific fact that energy cannot disappear; only change forms. According to science, we should all be robots made out of various organic compounds, yet we have ended up becoming self-aware. Where did this self-awareness come from? Where will it go, once you are dead, if all we are is organic matter and nothing but that? According to science, once you die, the self-awareness will change form. This is the same as the soul leaving the dead body. Energy cannot disappear, so the self-awareness therefore must go somewhere.




I suppose I maybe could skip the tea ceremony. Thinking about it, it seems a bit excessive... maybe too complicated. If, however, they would not want to watch my anime of choice, they are not welcome at my funeral and can stay at home. I will state this in a message left to a funeral service who offers the option of leaving a message for those left behind, after your death.

In regards to the ghost comment above, there are no such things as ghosts. Once you are dead, you are dead for good. Ghosts don't exist, people just want them to exist. Science in no way says ghosts exist. Souls don't exist either.

Résumé
[Dorothy Parker]
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

Not carbon monoxide.... it smells absolutely nothing, and all you will feel, before dying, is some nausea, at most.... but there are pills to prevent that from happening, so it's perfectly comfortable. However, I feel like I may not be able to go through it, that way.... to lay there, waiting for the gas to kill my body.... it seems far too prolonged. I kind of feel an attraction to cutting myself, though..... it seems beautiful..... all that blood pouring out, everywhere. It must look amazing. But it must be pretty deep, if it isn't going to heal up before I am gone, so that'd be fairly painful..... and also, my mom would have the shock of her life, when she'd find me. :/ I really doubt she'd share my view on the beauty of lying in a pool of blood. I wish she could just accept it. She believes in the afterlife, as well, anyway.... I mean, she *knows* I wouldn't be gone.... so she should just accept it. I don't know how my dad would react, but I'm sure he probably would grow to hate me for it, because it scarred my mom. But I'd write a gentle letter, asking everyone to try to keep together, after I was gone from this world.... after all, I had no place in this world. It's becoming clearer and clearer, to me..... it is all too late for me. My life has started to end.

To be, or not to be--that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep--
No more--and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep--
To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprise of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.